


Prosetober - Wolfstar Short Fics

by flammable_grimm_pitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Anniversary, Azkaban, Baby Harry Potter, Betrayal, Blood, Date Night, Dementors, Desi Potter Family (Harry Potter), Escape, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Full Moon, Grief/Mourning, Healer Lily Evans Potter, Hearing Voices, Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Indian Potter Family (Harry Potter), Insanity, Intrusive Thoughts, James Potter & Lily Evans Potter Die, Kidnapping, Kneazles, Love Confessions, M/M, MWPP, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Minor Character Death, Murder, Nurses & Nursing, Owls, Parent Death, Prison, Professor Remus Lupin, Sibling Death, Sirius Black as Padfoot, Slow Dancing, Smoking, St Mungo's Hospital, St. Mungo's Healers (Harry Potter), Talking Animals, Unwanted Sexual Advances, Wakes & Funerals, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 34,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26755696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammable_grimm_pitch/pseuds/flammable_grimm_pitch
Summary: Short Wolfstar fics based on daily prompts for the entire month of October! Prompts provided by Tumblr user drawingdawnart. See end notes for a link to the prompt list!PLEASE SEE INDIVIDUAL CHAPTERS FOR CONTENT WARNINGS.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin & Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 29
Kudos: 32





	1. "it was so human"

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts for fics are short quotes from various literary works - the title for each piece will be the prompt, and the author will be listed in the notes!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is taken from Kurt Vonnegut's _Slaughterhouse-Five._
> 
> CW: Discussion of funeral practices, including death care. Nothing graphic, but it can be a tough subject for people experiencing grief. Take care!

When Sirius reached the bottom of the tree, he tilted his head back and looked up. Remus was settled on a thick branch, his back resting against the tree’s trunk. In his hand was a lit pipe, from which he took a slow drag every now and then.

“Wotcher, Rem,” he called up softly. 

“Sirius,” the stone-faced teen replied, not meeting his boyfriend’s gaze. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” Sirius told him, his voice solemn. “May I come up and join you?” 

“I suppose,” Remus drawled, his Welsh accent much heavier than it typically was at school. Home did that to a person; Sirius had always reverted to the Queen’s English the moment he stepped foot in Grimmauld Place at the end of each school year, as though he hadn’t just spent ten months throwing slang around with his friends and classmates. 

Sirius divested himself of his jacket, laying it out on the grass to keep it from wrinkling before clambering up the tree as easily as a monkey. He chose a branch beside Remus’, testing it under his weight before committing to it, because the last thing the Lupins needed was to ruin Hope's funeral before it had even started. 

“Sun’s shining,” Sirius observed, shoving a cigarette between his teeth and lighting it with the snap of his fingers. “She’d have liked that, I reckon.” 

“She would’ve,” Remus agreed, releasing a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. “She was chuffed to bits that all her flowers would be in bloom.” 

“A ray of bloody sunshine she was, your mam,” Sirius said, shaking his head. Remus hummed in affirmation. The pair smoked in silence, listening instead to the trill of birds in nearby trees, and the croak of a frog hiding in the bulrushes below. 

“I feel like a terrible person for it, but I feel so...relieved, now that she's gone,” Remus sighed, tapping out the ashes from the bowl of his pipe and watching them float towards the grass below. “She was delirious from all the meds at the end, but if Tad held back on them, she was in agony.” 

“I don’t think that’s terrible of you to feel,” Sirius said, reaching out and setting a hand on Remus’ thigh. “She’s not hurting any longer. It’s alright – natural, I’d argue – for you to be relieved.” Remus’ hand settled over top of Sirius’, their fingers lacing together as easily as they had the very first time, right there in that very tree. 

* * * * * 

Hope's funeral was an intimate affair, taking place later that day at the Lupins' cottage in the Welsh countryside. No funeral director had been involved; Lyall and Remus had washed and dressed her in her favourite yellow sundress, and Lily Evans had brushed and braided her hair, threading daisies from the garden into the plait encircling her head like a crown. Hope's body was laid out on the kitchen table on a simple cotton shroud, with sweet lavender and springs of rosemary tucked into the fabric beside her. Traditional, just as she'd wanted things to be. 

Lyall said a few words about her life, praising her as a devoted wife and mother. He spoke of their meeting at a supermarket, of their joy after Remus had been born, but was overcome with emotion before he could continue with the rest of the speech he had planned. Remus held his mother's hand, much colder in death than it had been in life, and ran his thumb repetitively over her soft, pale skin, relishing the last opportunity he would have to be near the woman who he so dearly loved. His amber eyes swam with tears that left wet tracks down his cheeks and dripped onto the hardwood beneath his feet. 

When it was time, the Lupins worked together to wrap the shroud around Hope's body while their few guests stood by, observing quietly. James elbowed Peter, who was squirming in discomfort, having never seen a dead body before, and the teen let out a sorry whimper that went completely unnoticed by their hosts. One of Hope's folk records softly played in the background. 

Sirius and James had spent the day prior to the funeral preparing Hope's final resting place, digging a hole in the back garden where she wished to be buried. It was beautiful outside, the sun shining down on the group as they made their solemn journey. As she had wished, Hope's flowers were in full bloom, filling the garden with the scents Remus had always associated with his mother's warm embrace. Birds flittered by overhead, oblivious to the grieving people in the garden below. 

"This is exactly how she wanted it to be," Remus said, swallowing hard as he watched his mother's body descend into the ground. "I'm glad it didn't rain today." 

"She spent every afternoon out here in her rocking chair, while she was still able," Lyall replied. "Nothing made her smile like seeing bees wiggle their way into the flowers." He paused for a moment before glancing towards Remus. "Nothing except you, I should say." 

Remus sucked in a quick breath, struggling to maintain his composure. He managed to hold it in, though - as his friends knelt beside the open grave and laid flowers atop the cotton shroud; as Lily closed her eyes and whispered a prayer; as his father lifted the mound of dirt with his wand and gently deposited it back into the ground; as he saw the body that had harboured his mother's spirit for the last time. 

Lily, James and Peter left after a few minutes, wanting to give the Lupins some time to be alone at Hope's grave. Sirius remained, but stepped back, waiting to join Remus the moment he made any indication that he was needed. The two men fell into quiet conversation, speaking Welsh as they tended to do when no one else was around. Lyall reached out and set a hand against the back of his son's neck, pulled him close for a hug, and pressed a kiss to Remus' head before leaving him to say his goodbyes. 

As soon as the house's back door slammed shut, Remus choked out an anguished sob, and his knees gave out beneath him. He was alone, but for Sirius, so he could cry and scream all he wanted; the house was charmed to keep out noise. 

"This isn't fair," Remus keened, ripping fistfuls of grass from the ground and throwing them, dirt chunks and all, across the garden. "It isn't fair. She should still be here!" Sirius knelt beside him, not caring if he got his trousers wet or dirty, and put his arms around the lanky boy, whose breathing had devolved into frantic gasps. "THIS ISN'T. FUCKING. FAIR!" Remus howled, clinging desperately to Sirius, as though the dark-haired boy might keep him from falling further into his despair. 

"I know, love," Sirius murmured, holding Remus tight to his chest. A few of his own tears dripped into Remus' curls, but the young man was too far gone to notice. They sat by Hope's grave until the sun went down, and the moon, waxing its way towards fullness, rose into the dark sky above them.


	2. "under her raincoat"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is taken from Ada Limón's _The Raincoat_ \- check it out here --> https://poets.org/poem/raincoat.
> 
> I based this fic more on the actual message of the poem instead of just the few words of the prompt. The poem fit so well with the concept of Remus having a chronic illness (lycanthropy), and I wanted to explore Effie Potter as a character, so I based her story on how the mother in Limón's poem gave up many things in life to care for the child she loves. Hope you can see the connection!

On the morning after July’s full moon, Remus had the misfortune of being instantly blinded the moment he opened his eyes. He’d fallen asleep on the floor of the Potters’ defunct air raid shelter in the one spot where the early morning sunlight was able to shine through the hinged door up at ground level. Groaning, he shifted his aching body a hair to the left, and that was all it took; the light splashed across his cheekbone instead of into his eyes.

“Sirius!” A woman’s voice scolded outside the door, startling Remus into consciousness. “What on earth are you doing out here? It’s six in the bloody morning, young man.” Still a bit disoriented, Remus tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his arm hindered his progress, became significantly worse when he put any weight on it. 

“I was only waiting for Moony to wake up,” Sirius protested outside the shelter door. “Woke up early so I’d be here whenever he called.” 

“Oh, and I’m certain it has _nothing_ to do with his state of dress,” Effie scoffed at her son. “Run along and have some breakfast, and I’ll have Remus all patched up and tucked into bed by the time you’re finished.” There was a spluttering sound, followed by a stern, “ _No_ ‘buts’, Siri.” 

In any other situation, Remus would have laughed at the dressing down Sirius was receiving, but judging by the twinge in his side that worsened with each inhale, he had at least one cracked rib; laughter would have to wait. 

The metallic clang of a chain and lock being undone echoed around the concrete shelter, as did the squeal of rusted hinges and the crack of the bunker door as it knocked against the house. Remus figured he must be quite a sight, because Euphemia Potter greeted him with a frown and a gentle _tsk tsk_ as she descended the slim staircase into the ground. 

“Good to see you all in one piece, darling,” she murmured, settling a flannel blanket over his lower body to give Remus some semblance of modesty. “Looks as though you had a long night.” He couldn’t have cared less about his nudity at this point; his parents, his friends – even some of the Hogwarts staff had seen him starkers the morning after his transformations. It was a fact of his life, and it hardly even crossed his mind anymore. It was a sweet gesture on Mrs. Potter’s part, though, and he made a mental note to tell her so when talking didn’t make him feel as though his jaw might snap away from his skull. 

Remus shivered as the slimy chill of a Full Body-Bind Curse rolled over his body, cast by Mrs. Potter. This was only the second time it had been used on him for medical purposes (being hexed by Slytherins was another thing entirely), but he could safely say he wasn’t overly fond of the sensation. He did appreciate that it kept his limbs from flopping all over as Mrs. P levitated him up the stairs. Moving an arm or leg while a bone was broken was excruciating, but the spell prevented any accidental jostling. Madam Pomfrey could really learn a thing or two about werewolf medicine from Effie Potter, Remus thought. 

All he could do until Mrs. Potter deposited him into his bed was move his eyes. The sights weren’t particularly exciting – mostly just a few fluffy clouds, and then the ceiling of the Potters’ house once they’d entered through the back door. Sirius’ and James’ whinging over who deserved the last of the scrambled eggs was audible from all the way across the house; Remus dearly wished he could holler back that they’d surely had their fair share, and that shy, quiet Peter – who never spoke up that he was still hungry, even when he was – ought to have them. 

“Good morning, Remus,” Fleamont Potter said cheerily, passing his houseguest and his wife on his way from the second floor (where most of the house’s bedrooms were located) down to the main level (where breakfast was waiting for him). “Glad to see you awake. Hope your night wasn’t too exciting.” He chuckled at his own bad joke, making Remus groan internally. Spending a full night locked in a magically reinforced concrete cellar had never been high on his list of ‘exciting things to do at a mate’s house’. 

“Oh, Monty, leave the poor lad alone,” Effie chastised, though failing to keep a straight face. “The last thing Remus needs after a long night is to hear is to hear any of your tosh.” 

Monty winked playfully at Remus, who batted his lashes in the only display of good humour he could give in his present state. He appreciated greatly that Mr. Potter didn’t let his gaze linger on any of the ragged gashes in his skin, nor did he regard Remus with pity. He smiled and teased as he would with either of his sons. Even Remus’ own father wasn’t able to look at his son the morning after the moon without flinching. It was disheartening, to say the least, so to have spent every full of the summer break at the Potters’ was such a relief for the teen lycanthrope. 

In no time at all, Effie had dosed her charge with Skele-Gro and Wiggenweld potion, applied a few drops of dittany and Murtlap essence to his wounds to cleanse them and lessen the pain, and closed up the worst of the gashes across his belly with a series of complex healing charms. The woman was a miracle worker in Remus’ opinion. Last month’s claw- and bite-marks had barely scarred at all in comparison to some of the wounds he’d dealt himself in the confines of the Shrieking Shack in the early years of his confinement there. 

The more serious injuries that had plagued him in childhood had ceased to appear as soon as Padfoot, Prongs and Wormtail had started joining him each month because the wolf was able to roam through the forest instead of being shut up in a cellar. The Potters’ magically reinforced bunker wasn’t the ideal space for the wolf to play, but Monty and Effie had done wonders on the place just for Remus – expanding the room (legality be damned), charming the cement walls to cushion the blows as the wolf threw itself against them – all so that he might spend the summer with his friends like any other 16-year-old. 

Tears gathered at the corners of Remus’ eyes just thinking about how kind the Potters had been to him. He had (almost) believed James and Sirius when they promised that their parents wouldn’t be disgusted to learn of Remus’ _furry little problem,_ but never in his wildest dreams had he expected to be so wholly embraced by the family despite the challenges his condition presented. Knowing that Lyall Lupin would be furious to learn that the Potters _knew,_ the Potters devised an airtight plan before ever approaching the Lupins about the matter. 

“Is everything alright, love?” Effie asked, brushing an errant curl back from Remus’ forehead. He sniffled and turned his head away, not wanting his friends’ mother to see him crying. “I’ll fetch a potion to dull the pain. Just tell me where it hurts.” 

_My heart,_ Remus couldn’t bear to tell her. 

“It’s not—” he hiccoughed, “I’m not in pain, Mrs. Potter.” 

“Well then, whatever is the matter, Remus, darling?” she asked, her forehead wrinkling with concern. Though James was practically a spitting image of his father, Remus recognized his friend’s fierce protectiveness in the warm, hazel eyes of the woman before him. 

“I can’t even tell you what this all means to me,” he said, cursing himself internally for how pathetic he was sure he sounded. “You’ve done so much – too much – both you and Mr. Potter. I’ve been a terrible inconvenience this whole summer—” 

Mrs. Potter gripped Remus’ hand firmly in her own, and she lowered her voice so that only he might hear her words. 

“Remus Lupin, you listen to me right now,” she demanded, holding his gaze as if by magic. “You are _not,_ and have _never_ been an inconvenience to us, so don’t you tell yourself that for even a second. We have _loved_ having you here with us this summer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sirius and James so happy to be home from Hogwarts, and I know for a fact it’s because you’re here with them.” 

She ran a hand over his curls, smoothing them back with a motherly tenderness that nearly broke him into pieces. Hope had died more than a year ago now, and he had ached and ached for her touch, for her kiss on his forehead at bedtime. Effie was so different from his mother, and no woman could ever replace Hope in his heart; but Remus knew now that he was receiving the same love that had changed Sirius – his Sirius – from a snappish, emotionally-distant boy whose birth mother had shown him nothing but pain, into the compassionate and bright-eyed young man he was today. 

Remus knew that if he were to say any of this to Effie, he would become an inconsolable, dripping mess, so instead, he squeezed her hand and asked a question he had been wondering for a month now. 

“Mrs. P, how do you know so much about healing magic, anyhow?” 

“I was a healer for years and years before James was born,” she said, eyeing him curiously. “Has he never told you this?” 

“I don’t think so,” Remus shook his head. “I…well, I thought you’d always been a homemaker, like my mam.” A far-off smile graced Effie’s lips as she thought back to her days as a career woman. 

She released Remus’ hand for just a moment to adjust the bedsheets which were slightly askew, and called for the family house-elf to bring up a cup of tea and a glass of water for her patient, before scooting her chair closer to his bedside. 

“As I’m sure you can tell,” she teased, dipping her head in reference to her neat chignon, more platinum than brown, “Monty and I are no spring chickens. We didn’t meet until I was 32, and were both in our forties by the time James came along. We had hoped for a big family, but had a number of losses…” Effie’s expression grew sombre for a moment, but Winky the house-elf Apparated into the room with a loud *crack* bearing the drinks requested by her mistress, and when Remus turned back towards her, she was smiling once again. 

“In any case, I decided early on that I wasn’t going to wait around for a man, so I enrolled in the Mediwitch training program at St. Mungo’s,” she started up again. 

“I thought you said you were a—” 

“Ah ah, patience, love,” Effie chuckled, “I’m getting there. As I was saying, I joined the Mediwitch program, but quickly realized that I was interested in the diagnostic process, and in learning more advanced magic than the program was able to provide. The only problem was that at the time, only wizards were permitted to be healers, so my application was declined – twice.” 

“That’s bullshit!” An indignant voice exclaimed from out in the hall. A moment later Sirius burst into the room, his eyes blazing. He was still in his pyjamas - a pair of plaid cotton trousers and a _Led Zeppelin_ t-shirt with an image of a naked angel from their 1975 tour of America. 

“Sirius Potter-Black,” Effie reprimanded the teen sharply, “Mind your language, or you’ll be doing the dishes for a week – _without magic_.” Remus knew Mrs. Potter would never lay a hand on Sirius to discipline him, but she could certainly discipline him plenty of other ways. 

“Yes, yes, Mum, I’m terribly sorry,” he said in rushed apology, clambering up into bed and tucking himself alongside Remus, “But it _is._ You’re brilliant at healing, so how could they turn you down just because you’re a woman?” 

Remus pressed a kiss to Sirius’ cheek. “I think she’s about to tell us, but you’ve got to hush up or we’ll never get to hear.” 

“Rude,” Sirius declared, sticking his tongue out at his boyfriend, but he leaned his head against Remus’ shoulder (gently, just in case he was in pain) and turned his attention back to Effie. “So you were declined twice, but…” 

“But I refused to let their sexist rules get in my way,” she declared. “I sent owls to every Healer program I could, and was accepted to only one – a program in Delhi that would admit students from England. Back in those days, the Indian Ministry of Magic was closely connected to the British ministry because India was still a colony of Britain.” 

“That’s where you met Dad, isn’t it?” Sirius inquired. Even Remus knew that part of the story; Monty, an Indian-born British citizen, had swept Effie off her feet and onto a magic carpet on their first date. 

“Many years later, but yes,” Effie confirmed. “I trained at a hospital in Delhi, where I had to work much harder there than I might have if I’d been permitted to do it here. I learned to speak Hindi on the job, as that was the language many of my patients spoke, and though I was permitted to study there, I was the only woman in my year. Many of my colleagues and classmates told me I should have stayed in the Mediwitch program where they felt I belonged.” 

“That’s bull—ying,” Sirius slid his words together, eyeing his adoptive mother sheepishly. He didn't fancy doing the dishes by hand. “Definitely bullying, wouldn’t you say, Moons?” 

“Quite right, Pads,” Remus said with a snort. “But you stayed, didn’t you?” 

“I did. I finished at the top of my program, which meant I got to meet both the Indian _and_ British ministers of magic,” Effie said, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “And I’ll have you know that I gave them both a piece of my mind. After that, St. Mungo’s started to accept witches into their Healer program, but I stayed in India to continue working with the people there.” 

“Why didn’t you come home, if you were allowed to?” Remus wondered. “Your whole family was here, and all your friends, weren’t they?” 

“At the time, Delhi – among other places – was experiencing a serious crisis. The Muggle newspapers started picking up on an increase in rabid dogs prowling the city. People were being viciously mauled by these dogs, which eyewitness accounts said were enormous, unlike any they had ever seen.” 

Remus felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. He could guess where this story was heading, and it made him nauseous just thinking about it. 

“Tight living quarters and limited indoor plumbing meant that many people were going out of doors at night to do their business,” Effie explained. “The Indian ministry picked up on what was really happening when a…a witch was bitten on the night of the full moon.” 

“You knew her, didn’t you?” Sirius murmured, regarding his mother with newfound respect. “Mahrukh was a close friend of mine, a female healer in the year above me. She survived an attack outside our block of flats, and ended up turning at the next full.” Effie gave Remus’ hand another squeeze, knowing he was feeling deeply affected by her story. “She was first of a dozen witches and wizards bitten that night. They set up a dedicated lycanthropy ward that week, and I was the first to sign on as a full-time Healer.” 

“Nearly _two hundred_ witches and wizards had been affected by the time they managed to contain the pack that was wreaking havoc – twenty wolves living together under a ruthless tyrant of a leader,” Effie said gravely. “Because so many people had been bitten, the Indian ministry had to create infrastructure to manage issues pertaining to those affected in a timely manner. They ended up creating sanctuaries of sorts – communal living spaces, warded heavily to prevent Muggles from straying into the area – with acres and acres of forest set aside so that instead of caging people up once a month, they could run free when the moon was out. It was really quite beautiful. Lycanthropy is considered a very manageable condition in India now, and the vast majority of lycanthropes are able to lead fulfilling lives, if a bit different from those of the rest of the wizarding population.” 

“And that’s why you’re brilliant at dealing with all my bites and scratches,” Remus complimented her. “You were literally a werewolf healer.” He was actually feeling quite choked up by Mrs. Potter’s story. In fact, he could hardly believe it was real – to know that there was a place where being like him wasn’t a death sentence. 

“That’s very kind of you to say, Remus,” Effie said appreciatively. “So now you know my story.” 

“Hang on,” Sirius countered. “Why would you have ever given up being a healer? You did amazing work, Mum. Surely Dad didn’t ask you to stop?” 

“No, of course not,” she chided gently. “I just decided once we had James that I’d rather devote my time to being a mother. And look how that turned out – I’ve acquired two more beautiful boys along the way, who I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.” Seeing that Remus was having a tough time wrapping his head around the enormous change she’d made to her life, Effie took the teen’s face – healing well now from the charms she’d used to seal up his split lip – and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“I was sad to leave my job as a healer,” she admitted, “But so, so ready to be a mother. It was all I’d wanted for a decade, and it finally happened. And now that we’ve got you, darling, I get to do two things that bring me such incredible joy – healing, and taking care of the people I love.” 

Despite the dull ache in his arms, and the remaining twinge from his healing rib, Remus reached up, put his arms around Mrs. Potter, and held her close. Sirius made _awww_ ing sounds like the prat he is, but Remus ignored him. Instead, he whispered in Effie’s ear, just loud enough for her to hear, “I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an Easter egg for you - the name of Effie's friend that became a werewolf, 'Mahrukh', means "a face like the moon".
> 
> See all the Prosetober prompts here --> https://drawingdawnart.tumblr.com/post/629280324527013888/some-of-my-artists-friends-and-i-felt-like-we


	3. "the greatest grief"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is adapted from Madeline Miller's _The Song of Achilles_.
> 
> CW: Discussion of death (non-graphic). Take care of yourself!

It was a rare treat to have a day where neither Remus nor Sirius was away on Order business. On one such day, the former was curled up on the sofa with a book and a large mug of tea, and the latter was puttering around the kitchen making dinner, as it was his turn to do so.

Remus was focused on his novel, but not so focused that he couldn’t enjoy the sound of his boyfriend singing along to his favourite Nick Drake record as he chopped vegetables. Sirius’ warm tenor carried through their little cottage, bringing life to the place. It was always their home, but it never _really_ felt like home unless they were both there, taking up space and doing their daily routines together. 

The ruffle of wings at the open kitchen window wasn’t enough to tempt Remus’ curiosity, but Sirius padded across the room, saucy spoon in hand, to greet the owl that had just landed on their sill. Its orange eyes and crested brows seemed familiar to him, though he couldn’t think of why just now. It certainly wasn’t a bird that had come to call before; their usual guests were the Potters’ regal snowy, and the chatty screech owl that Peter had brought to Hogwarts. 

“And who’s this pretty boy?” Sirius murmured, giving the spoon a lick before setting it on the counter and grabbing a few owl treats from a nearby bowl. The brown and black bird hooted happily as Sirius held out a chunk of dried meat, which it snapped up immediately, dropping the letter clutched in its beak. He tutted fondly at the hungry bird as he retrieved the letter from where it had fallen on the floor. “Silly thing. Why, you remind me of—” His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the serpent pressed into the wax of the letter's seal. 

Remus was oblivious to the happenings in the kitchen, finally having arrived at a passage heavy with information that required his full attention. He had the luxury of finishing one last page before the world dropped out from under him, and all hell broke loose in the cottage. 

First came the awful rip of needle tearing into vinyl, followed by a bubbling eruption of sauce, which sent hot, red marinara in every direction. Remus looked up in horror at what looked like blood spattered every surface of the kitchen. Every window in the house simultaneously shattered outwards in an explosion of energy, blowing glass out into the garden. The kettle wailed away on the stove, but Remus had left his wand in the bedroom, so he had no way of stopping it. 

“Sirius, where are you?” he shouted frantically from where he was ducked beneath the coffee table. “Sirius! Answer me!” Remus crawled towards the kitchen, grateful that there was no broken glass on the floor. Marinara was more challenging to avoid, and by the time he found Sirius on his knees by the kitchen window, both of his hands and trouser legs were smeared with sauce. 

“Sirius?” Remus yelled, reaching out to throw an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Love, what’s happened? Are you hurt?” Sirius said nothing, but his face was frozen in an anguished grimace, hot tears streaming from his eyes. The muscles of his jaw were clenched so tightly Remus feared they might snap, though he knew that wasn’t possible. 

The letter he had received was clutched in his hand, and it took a ridiculous amount of strength for Remus to wrestle it away from him. Its envelope had ceased to exist, having been burnt to ashes in the wave of Sirius’ rage. Remus wiped his hands on his shirt so as not to dirty the parchment too much before opening the letter and reading it. Oddly, there was no salutation, just a short message in a neat, curling script, and a formal signature. 

_Regulus is dead. His wake was held yesterday morning, and his body has been interred in the Black family crypt._

_Walburga Black_  
_Toujours Pur_

“Bloody hell,” Remus hissed, tossing the letter to the floor. He gathered the unresponsive man beside him in his arms, hugged him tightly to his chest, and rocked him back and forth, as his mother had done for him when he was a child. Sirius made no sound, not even a sniffle, but he also didn’t pull away. 

Grabbing Sirius’ wand from where it lay on the floor, Remus silenced the kettle, cast a Patronus charm to send for the Potters. When he was finished, the translucent, wolfish dog that closely resembled Padfoot bounded out the window and into the night to deliver its message. 

Sirius remained quiet and unmoving, leaned against Remus who was now using the wall to support his own aching back. He started to right the kitchen, but Sirius’ wand was doing a piss-poor job, to his great annoyance. He summoned his own wand, (which nearly poked his eye out upon its arrival) and made quick work of the place, Scourgifying sauce from the floors, walls, and ceilings, and repairing all the windows within his range of vision. All the while, he kept an arm around Sirius’ chest, as though the simple gesture might protect the man from any more devastation the world might have in store for him. 

* * * * * 

“I thought he hated his brother,” Peter whispered, glancing up at James in confusion. Remus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes; he loved Pete, but sometimes the man could be unbelievably daft. 

“He hates the decisions he made,” James answered, ushering Peter out of the bedroom doorway, “But he loved Regulus. Made for a complicated relationship.” 

Remus leaned against the doorframe and observed the sleeping man in his bed. He always looked so young when he was asleep, without the cares of the world marring his expression. His newly cut hair made a difference as well; the day after the letter about Reg’s death had arrived, Sirius took a pair of scissors to his beloved locks in a fit of rage. He’d done a horrific job, of course, but Lily managed to make it look much less severe with a bit of magic and her husband’s trimmer. 

In some cultures, a person would cut off all their hair as a symbol of mourning. That was rather poetic, Remus thought, and was definitely something a man as dramatic as Sirius would be wont to do. The real trigger for the whole thing, he guessed, was that Sirius had seen his brother’s face instead of his own – a guess informed by the combination of Sirius’ mangled, bloody knuckles and the shattered centre of their bathroom mirror. 

The last time they had seen Regulus – drunk at a pub frequented by Death Eaters – Sirius had noted the lack of boyish roundness in his brother’s cheeks and the fact that his hair was nearly as long as Sirius’ own. The only obvious difference Remus had noticed between the two was their eyes – Sirius had inherited his father’s steely grey gaze, where Regulus’ were more akin to the thoughtful brown eyes of their late uncle Alphard. 

Sirius shifted beneath the blankets and let out a short moan. He had been plagued by nightmares despite being regularly dosed with Dreamless Sleep. Remus had been struggling to sleep as well, fearing that he wouldn’t wake up in time to pull his partner from whatever terrors were haunting his nights. James appeared beside Remus and set a hand on his shoulder. 

“Lily says you’re to go have a rest somewhere other than the sofa, and I’m to be on Sirius duty,” he informed his exhausted friend. “I told her you weren’t like to be amenable to that plan, and she said something I won’t repeat because I want you to think she’s a good person.” Remus chuckled weakly at James’ attempt at humour. “You need the rest, Rem. I’ll take care of him, I promise, and I’ll wake you if something changes, alright?” James gave his arm a squeeze before gently steering him in the direction of the spare room. 

“Best not to rile Lily up, or we’ll both go without supper,” Remus concluded. “Thank you again for being here, Prongs. I can’t tell you how much of a help you’ve been.” 

“Don’t thank me,” James said with a smirk, “Thank my beautiful wife. She’s sent Pete off on an errand that will keep him from saying insensitive shit for at least the next eight hours.” 

“Bless ‘er soul,” Remus sighed, his forehead dropping against the wall with a hollow _thunk._ “I love the fellow, but I just cannot hear another dumb comment about how he thinks Sirius should be handling this. Reg was his _brother_ , for Christ’s sake.” 

“He and Sirius nearly got into a punch-up after your mam’s funeral,” James admitted, grimacing at the memory. “He’s got no siblings, so trying to understand how to act when someone’s lost a loved one is just terribly awkward and foreign to him. He has no frame of reference.” 

“I suppose,” Remus grumbled, annoyed that James was successfully getting him to see things from Peter’s perspective. “Can’t believe _you_ of all people are giving me this talk. This is real grown-up stuff, Prongs.” 

“Almost-fatherhood has a way of making a person less of a gormless twat,” James said with a shrug. “You should try it sometime, Rem.” 

“God forbid.” Remus shuddered at the idea. “I’ve a hard enough time keeping Pads out of trouble. And speaking of trouble…” He trailed off, spying his friend’s scowling wife waddling towards them, one hand resting on her growing belly. “I’m beat, wake me in a bit, yeah? Say hi to Lils for me.” 

“Traitor,” James called after him in accusation, but Remus was halfway down the hall already, trying to make it into the spare room before Lily could chastise him for not being in bed yet. 

* * * * * 

Even though he’d barely spoken a word to Lily or James in the week they’d stayed at the cottage, Sirius was terribly sad when they were gone. It had been a great comfort to have his chosen brother around as he mourned the death of his brother by blood. 

It would have been easier if Sirius could hate Regulus, as he hated his parents. The boy had shunned him just as they had, said terribly hurtful things about Sirius both to his face and to others at school. No one would have blamed him if he had reacted differently to the news of Reg’s death, because their relationship had been tense and destructive for almost as long as it hadn’t been. But that wasn’t how Sirius felt at all. When he received his mother’s letter, he read it over and over again, read it five or six times before the reality of it hit him. His brother, who he was meant to love unconditionally and protect from harm, was gone forever. 

The worst thing was that Sirius felt…nothing. Surely when you were connected so intimately to a person, you should feel their death like a string snapping inside you, like a soap bubble popping. Remus had described his mother’s death as earth-shattering, like the light being sucked right out of him. What the hell was wrong with Sirius if he hadn’t felt a single thing when Regulus, his only brother, ceased to exist? He must not have a soul if he was so incapable of feeling this profound loss. 

There was just nothing inside him, nothing at all. Nothing could cheer him up, or make him angry, or create any semblance of emotion in him. Remus would make foods he loved, or pour him a glass of his favourite whisky – nothing. James and Lily came over and curled up beside him in bed, told him about their latest ultrasound, showed him the photo printout of his future godson – nothing. Dumbledore had even stopped in for a few hours, wanting to discuss an Order mission, but Sirius hadn’t been able to engage with him for more than a few minutes, so Remus sent him away. 

The truth came to him one night as Remus was telling a story about Hope. He did that sometimes – just told stories or talked about his day as they lay side-by-side in bed. Remus didn’t expect Sirius to respond, or to join in on the conversation; he just talked so that Sirius wouldn’t be alone. 

Remus told him that Hope’s existence had been like a warm, vibrant light inside him, brighter than the biggest bonfire, the hottest sun. When her light was extinguished, he was left with a dark cavernous space in him. He had tried getting out of the house, meeting friends, seeing a therapist. Nothing worked. Until Remus was able to look at memories of his mother, to remember the incredible light that her life had been instead of dwelling on the vacant space she had left behind, he was miserable. 

“So the light came back?” Sirius asked - the longest sentence he’d said to anyone in three weeks. (The second longest was ‘pass the salt, please’.) 

“Yes, it did,” Remus nodded slowly, turning to look at his boyfriend. He was as skinny and pale as Remus had ever seen him – never going outside (even as Padfoot), and eating just enough to keep himself out of St. Mungo’s. 

“How?” His voice cracked. 

“I talked about her.” 

“…That’s it?” The skin between his eyebrows wrinkled as Sirius frowned. 

“Yep,” Remus said simply. “It took me ages, but I stopped keeping all my thoughts about her to myself, and started talking about her to my tad, and to you lot. Hiding how much I missed her didn’t do me a lick of good, just left me empty.” 

“Didn’t it hurt – to remember her, I mean?” He said it softly, his voice so small, so vulnerable. It had been weeks, but Sirius’ wounds were still fresh. Regulus’ death was a knife in his belly, and remembering him was like watching his innards spill out onto the floor. 

“Every day,” Remus told him honestly. “I couldn’t stop crying sometimes, remember? Every time I thought about her, talked about her, it hurt. But you know that thing people always say about death – ‘grief in separation is the price we pay for love’.” 

Sirius considered this for a moment, thought about the other losses he’d experienced, the deaths he’d witnessed. He compared them to the gaping hole in his chest. It was the most pain he’d ever felt – worse than every Cruciatus curse, worse than anything his parents had ever done or said to him. Surely the pain must proportional to how much you cared for someone? If his father were to drop dead today, Sirius would be able to get up tomorrow without a problem. And if that were the case, his feelings for Regulus… 

“I think I really loved him, despite everything,” Sirius murmured. “Even if he never felt the same way about me.” 

“We are none of us perfect,” Remus said, pulling Sirius into his embrace, “And love isn’t only for the deserving. S’not even necessarily earned. Sometimes it just…is.” Sirius nestled himself up against his boyfriend and tucked his head beneath the man’s stubbled chin. They were quiet for a few minutes, revelling in each other's warmth for the first time in a long while. 

“Moony?” Sirius asked softly, glancing up to see that Remus' eyes were closed. 

Remus looked down the bridge of his nose at the person he loved most in the world. “Yes, Pads?” 

“Can I tell you a story?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops it's a day late, I fell a little behind. Will try to catch up, because so help me god, I am getting all 31 prompts in this month!


	4. "I was Joan, I was Lazarus"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is taken from Louise Glück's poem _Saint Joan._
> 
> Had a super hard time with this prompt, but hopefully I managed to make it work.
> 
> CW: Remus experiences some intrusive thoughts/hears the voice of the wolf in his head. If this sort of thing is upsetting for you, maybe skip this one.

Remus hated the smell of hospitals. The cleaning staff could try and try, but there wasn’t enough disinfectant in the entire world to wash away or cover up the smell of piss and shit and blood. Thankfully, he and Sirius had business in the maternity ward, where the awful smells were replaced by the gurgles and cries of newborn babies. They had received an owl early that morning with happy news – a beautiful boy had been born, and they were to be his godfathers.

Sirius clutched an obnoxiously large bouquet of multi-coloured flowers in one hand and a bouquet of balloons in the other. When they approached the desk, all the mediwitches batted their lashes at him and complimented the beautiful flowers he’d brought, only to be disappointed when he announced that, “My husband and I are uncles now!” They were shown to a room at the far end of the ward where James was passed out on a small sofa, and Lily was tucked into bed, baby Harry swaddled in her arms. 

“All of the other new mums must be so jealous of you, Lils,” Sirius said, whisper-shouting so as not to wake James or the baby. 

“And why is that?” she inquired, giving her friends a tired smile. 

“They all look like they’ve been through a bloody war,” he grimaced, jerking a thumb towards the door, “But you kicked birth’s arse and somehow still look just as radiant as you did on your wedding day.” 

“Oh, shut it,” she scoffed, bopping her fist against Sirius’ shoulder. “I’ve got an iced diaper shoved between my legs because _your_ best friend couldn’t be bothered to use a protection spell, and my tits hurt so badly I can’t let the front of my gown touch them. I’m _quite_ certain that I don’t look like all that, you flatterer.” 

“Perhaps not,” Remus smirked, bending down to kiss her dishevelled hair, “But you do look incredible, Lily. Motherhood suits you well.” He passed her a large cup of coffee, which he’d thought to pick up from her favourite shop. 

“Sweet Merlin, Remus. I love you,” she moaned, snatching the coffee from his hands. “Why did I ever marry James when I could be with you?” Lily took a deep drink from before setting the cup on the bedside table, and released a sigh of satisfaction. 

“Might have something to do with how much he likes my co–” 

“Sirius, behave,” Remus scolded, swatting at his husband. “There are little ears in the room. Don’t be teaching our godson naughty words until he’s at least three. Honestly; have some class.” 

On the nearby sofa, James began to stir. His glasses were sitting a bit crooked on his nose, probably having been knocked askew in his sleep. With a yawn, he opened his eyes and blinked up at his two best friends. 

“Pads! Moony! So good of you to come,” he exclaimed, leaping up to pull them both into a hug. He positioned himself at the head of Lily’s bed so as to introduce them to their newborn son. “This is Harry James Potter, born July 31. He weighed 3.6 kilos and is 53 centimetres in length.” 

“I don’t know what to do with those last bits of information, mate,” Sirius said with a chuckle, “But he looks brilliant. Much cuter than any of Molly and Arthur’s little carrot-tops.” Sirius leaned over the bed to have a closer look at Harry’s face. 

“Of course he is,” Remus agreed. “He’s our godson. There isn’t a cuter child in all of Britain, I’m certain of it.” Lily shifted herself closer so they might be able to touch the baby. “Oh, look what he’s got on under his blanket, Pads.” 

Sirius tugged the blanket down a bit to see that Harry was wearing a little bodysuit covered in moons and stars – a gift from the Lupin-Blacks. “Oh, it’s just the right size! We’ll have to get him others when he gets a bit bigger.” 

James leaned down and whispered something in his wife’s ear, to which she nodded. 

“Remus, love, did you and Sirius want to hold him?” she asked, reaching out to him. The sleeves of his jumper were pushed up, making visible the scars crisscrossing his forearms, and when her skin touched his, the wolf opened its eyes. 

_We'd love to hold him,_ it purred at the back of Remus' mind. He took a nervous step backwards and bumped into his husband’s sturdy chest.

“Oh, Pads will, I’m sure,” he said, reaching around Sirius’ back and pushing him ahead. 

_Oh, don't be like that, Remus,_ the wolf scolded. _We might not get another chance._ A shiver ran up Remus' spine as though the wolf were dragging a claw along his skin, trying to access his nervous system, control his movements. 

“You’ll be fine, Rem,” Sirius assured him, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. “Go have a seat on the sofa, and I’ll bring the sprog over in just a mo.” 

_Our mate says we should. Let's take the baby, Remus. They're practically begging us._

“Have you never held a baby before?” James inquired curiously. 

“No," Remus said through gritted teeth. _Never trust a werewolf to hold your infant, James. Don't be a fool._ James raised his eyebrows, surprised by Remus' bristly response. Up until now, he had been thrilled about the impending arrival of his godson; what had changed? 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Lily soothed, shooting her husband a sharp look. “You don’t have to if you don’t want, Remus, but if you _would_ like to hold Harry, Sirius can show you how. He’s had plenty of practice with ‘Meda’s girl.” 

_If the bitch is offering..._ The wolf's excitement was growing steadily; he was practically drooling for the baby, flexing his claws in anticipation. 

Remus could hear the thrum of his quickening heartbeat in his ears, which only served to increase his mounting anxiety. This was a fucking newborn they were talking about, for Christ’s sake! What if he dropped Harry on his head, or held him wrong, or the wolf got ahold of him somehow? He would never forgive himself. The moon wasn't for another two weeks, but the niggling voice in his head was convincing enough to create serious doubt in Remus' abilities to control his own actions. 

"I-I need to go," Remus stuttered, backing up towards the door. "I'm sorry, Lily. He's beautiful, really, I just..." And without further ado, he turned around and made for the lift as quickly as he could (without making a Mediwitch think he was taking off with someone's baby). 

* * * * * 

The third-floor balcony was thankfully empty when Remus stumbled out onto it. The architects of the hospital had cast a web of charms over the balcony so that it could be used by patients, visitors and staff in all seasons. Mostly, it served as a hangout for wizards and witches who had taken up the smoking of Muggle cigarettes. It also had a few potted plants, one of which Remus had spent a few minutes bent over, dry heaving as if it might flush the wolf out. 

With shaky hands, Remus shoved a hastily rolled fag between his teeth. He fished around in the pocket of his coat, cursing when he realized he'd left his lighter at home. Unlike Sirius with his fancy fire tricks, Remus relied on the disposable lighters sold at petrol station like the rest of the non-magic world. It was for the nostalgia more than convenience - the image of his mother lounging on the sofa, a lit cigarette dangling from her slim fingers, was one that came to mind often. 

The automatic door behind Remus slid open quietly, but Remus didn't turn. It had been long enough now that someone was bound to come looking for him. If James or Sirius knew, he was convinced, they wouldn't have come after him. 

"Need a light?" a gentle voice inquired. 

"That'd be grand," Remus sighed, leaning his arms on the railing. A tiny spark flashed at the tip of the cigarette, followed by a curl of smoke rising into the air. He took a long drag and held it until his eyes began to water; the wolf didn't like when he smoked. "Thanks." 

"I'm sorry, Moony," Sirius murmured, leaning against the railing beside his husband. "I should have thought about how being here might be stressful for you before I insisted on coming to visit." 

"Our friends had a baby - of course we had to come," Remus huffed, blowing a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. "I knew it would...complicate things, and I thought I could handle it. Clearly, I was wrong." Sirius held out an expectant hand, to which Remus begrudgingly passed his cigarette. The pair traded it back and forth like that until it was finished, at which point they lit up another. 

"Will you bite my head off if I ask why you don't want to hold Harry?" Sirius wondered, his eyes following the movement of traffic on the street below. 

"We'll need to discuss it eventually," Remus shrugged. "Might as well be now." 

"Whenever you're ready," Sirius acquiesced, vanishing the butt of their second fag. "I can wait." 

"I was never supposed to become an adult," Remus began, glancing over at Sirius. "As a child that became a werewolf at a young age, I could hardly even imagine reaching my teen years. When I met you and James and Pete, I was given an opportunity few like me ever get to have - you lot treated me like a normal kid instead of like a monster, kept me from tearing myself apart every chance I got." 

You aren't a monster," Sirius rationalized. "You were - are - a human being. The wolf gets to walk around in your skin once a month, stretch his legs out a bit and run, but he isn't _you._ " 

"I should have died. He's been trying to kill me for nearly 20 years," Remus murmured, his voice thick with resentment. "And he's got much more control over me than I'd like to admit. Likes to poke and prod at my mind, make me angry whenever and however he can. I can feel him even now, Sirius. He wants me to...do things." 

"Well, he's out of luck, because I'm not going to let him have you," Sirius promised, wrapping an arm around Remus' shoulders and pulling him close. "Not ever. The wolf doesn't get to steal your life, or keep you from having wonderful friends, and a stunningly handsome husband, and a beautiful new godson. He can talk all he wants, but that's all he is - talk. Don't you let him convince you otherwise, my love." 

Remus allowed himself to seek comfort in Sirius' embrace. He thought over everything his husband had said, and recognized it as true - he had lived 21 beautiful years despite the wolf's best attempts to cut his life short. He had friends and a husband who loved him more than he deserved. There were potion masters and healers doing their best to develop an affordable wolfsbane potion so that people living with lycanthropy might do just that - live - without fear of injury or death at the hands of a terrible magical malady. 

The longer Remus stood in the arms of the man he loved, the quieter the wolf's voice became. 

"You're being very quiet," Sirius observed after a long period of silence. 

"Not to worry," Remus said, pressing a quick kiss to Sirius' lips. "I've requested that the wolf kindly fuck off. I've got a baby to hold."


	5. "all the devils are here"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt taken from William Shakespeare's _The Tempest._
> 
> Just a short little one for today, because I'm trying to actually keep up with the prompt schedule!

The stench of unwashed bodies and wet, mildewy fur threatened to choke Remus as he stepped through the door of the dilapidated house. Stained mattresses were pushed up against the walls, piled high with blankets that hadn’t seen laundry soap in months – if ever. There was evidence of rodent activity everywhere: droppings, holes in ragged sofas with stuffing pouring out of them, mouse corpses rotting away in sprung traps. It was as disgusting a place as he’d ever been.

Remus entered the kitchen cautiously, knowing that his late appearance was likely to come off as suspicious to at least a few of his housemates. Like the bedraggled people sitting around the table, he was dressed like a tramp, and smelled like one, too, in clothes scavenged from seedy thrift stores and shelter bins. Having smelled him as soon as he’d walked through the front door, the three other werewolves were turned in their seats, waiting to greet him. 

“Romulus, how nice of you to join us for dinner,” a hulking brute of a man called Nigel murmured, regarding Remus with a lascivious grin. “We thought you’d run off on us, but here you are.” Bitter bile mixed with acid crept high in Remus’ throat, but he swallowed it down despite the intense nausea he felt every time he found himself in the presence of the disgusting pack leader. 

“Ah, yes, because I have so many exciting places to be,” Remus replied tartly. “The village girls all say I’m devilishly handsome under the light of the full moon.” He knew he should be more careful with the way he spoke to Nigel, but he was almost past the point of caring. All Remus wanted was to get past this last full and return home to Sirius, as Dumbledore had promised (thrice now, in fact). 

“You’ve got a pretty mouth on you,” Nigel growled, his nostrils flaring. He cut a menacing figure, especially in comparison to Remus’ twiggy build. 

“Where were you really?” inquired the dark-eyed female with the greasy, dishwater-blonde hair. She was the least odious member of the pack, Remus thought, though he still didn’t have any particularly fond feelings for the woman. “You smell…” she shifted forward in her chair, pressing her nose against the sleeve of Remus’ shirt. “Like dog.” 

“Well spotted, Layla,” Remus snorted derisively. 

“Dog. Not wolf,” she clarified, raising a suggestive eyebrow. “Interesting.” Layla was clever; he had to give her that. 

“Eugh,” the other male at the table – Marcus – grunted in disgust. “You don’t fuck _actual dogs,_ do you, Romie?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nigel said, barking out a laugh. His eyes roved greedily over Remus’ body, ignoring the caustic glare the subject of his lechery had turned on him. 

Wanting to move past this frankly vulgar line of conversation as quickly as possible, Remus pulled a chair up beside Layla and sat down, reaching for the plate of food waiting in the centre of the table. 

“Ah ah, not so fast,” Nigel purred, yanking the plate away. “I want to hear about this dog. Layla’s never wrong about these things, I’m sure you recall.” 

Remus had accompanied Nigel’s pack on an outing whose purpose was not disclosed prior to the event. To his horror, Layla and her magically-enhanced sensing abilities led them to a cabin where a group of Muggles were spending the weekend. Nigel and Marcus proceeded to kill the whole lot of them in cold blood, simply because they had made the mistake of leaving their scent along a trail that Marcus considered to fall within his territory. 

Remus knew from first-hand experience that if he didn’t tell the truth, or some variation of it, he would be eliminated from the pack. He fidgeted with the buttons of his shirt, anxious about the possibility that it would be taken from him purely out of spite. Nigel had made his interest in Remus abundantly clear from the very start, but had been denied time and time again without reason. 

“My mate is an Animagus, turns into a large dog,” Remus informed him, seething beneath his outwardly calm demeanour. “This is his shirt. I put a stasis charm on it so it might hold his scent.” 

“Your _mate,_ ” Nigel repeated, his brow creasing. “I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned a mate before.” 

“I prefer to keep some things private,” Remus sniffed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tatty jeans. “He doesn’t know that I’m—about me, and he certainly has no place amongst a pack of wolves.” 

“How curious.” Nigel frowned thoughtfully. “I’m almost inclined to believe you… _Remus Lupin._ ” 

At the mention of his real name, Remus froze. _How the fuck could Nigel possibly…_

He kept his gaze steady, hoping that might buy him some time with the pack leader, who was quick to anger, even quicker to draw his wand. Remus wasn’t a bad duellist, but it was three against one in his opponents’ favour. He had some time until the full, so he could probably avoid being ripped to shreds, but really, that was the least of his problems. If Nigel knew about him, it was likely that Fenrir Greyback did, too. 

Remus’ last coherent thought as the pack stood up from the table in unison, wands drawn, was of his only hope for survival – the owl he’d sent to Sirius earlier in the day, bearing very precious cargo (and the reason he’d been late to dinner) – a small phial containing the shimmering, luminescent thread of a memory.


	6. "the rain tastes like salt, and rises"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is taken from Connie Wanek's poem _After Us_ \- read it here --> https://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/024.html.

Damp sand squished between Sirius’ toes, sticking to his skin as he padded barefoot along the beachfront. The force of the wind had blown back the hood of his raincoat, and his soggy jeans were rolled almost to his knees. Dark, slate-grey clouds stretched across the sky in all directions, as far as they eye could see, but the rain that had been pelting down on him minutes before had subsided for the time being.

Salty mist rolled in from the ocean, condensing into beads of water on the end of his eyelashes. It was bloody freezing, but if he rolled down the legs of his trousers, the hems would be soaked and crusty with beach sand and foamy brine in just a few steps. His heavy leather combat boots, whose laces were knotted together in a bow, swung from his hand, their heavy soles occasionally knocking against his knee. There would probably be a nice black and blue mark blooming there when next he took off his trousers. 

The beach was deserted but for Sirius, some brave gulls, and a number of crustaceans scuttling around in search of tasty morsels. He slowed once to watch as a shore crab worked open a clam with its pincers, fascinated by the precision with which the creature scraped its meal out of the shell. Remus had always loved to sit and observe the goings-on of rock pools when they had a chance to visit the sea. Sirius wished Remus was here now, wished it with a fierceness that made his heart ache. It had been weeks since he’d heard from his husband – three full moons had passed, moons that Remus had suffered through without Padfoot by his side. 

Dumbledore had expressed concern at the last Order meeting about a spy amongst their ranks. It had shocked everyone, of course; they trusted each other with their lives, and those of their loved ones. The idea that someone was passing information of any kind along to Voldemort made Sirius’ blood run cold, in part because there weren’t many people that had the opportunity or the motive. Just two, really: the disowned heir to the House of Black, whose brother had been a known follower of the Dark Lord before his untimely death; and a lonely half-blood werewolf. 

The longer Sirius spent defending Remus to himself, the less sure he was of his husband’s innocence. He was the only member of the Order who had frequent, unmonitored access to supporters of Voldemort – through his undercover work among werewolf packs in continental Europe – as well as a reason to turn cloak. It was no secret that Dumbledore had turned down Remus’ request that the Werewolf Registry be struck down; nor was it unknown that Lupin’s anger with the well-respected Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was rooted in Dumbledore’s insistence that such a request would cost him invaluable support within the wizarding judicial and legislative body. 

The future of Remus’ health and wellbeing was intimately tied to the prejudicial creature legislation his father had supported when it was contested back in the 60s. It was that very support that cost Lyall Lupin’s son his humanity – Fenrir Greyback had attacked young Remus as payback for Lyall’s refusal to even consider having adjustments made to the scope of the registry. 

If it were only Remus’ frustration with Dumbledore that incriminated him, Sirius wouldn’t have considered his husband’s guilt for a moment. That, in addition to Remus’ frequent absence from home and gatherings with close family and friends, plus the ever-growing emotional distance within their marriage, was the basis of Sirius’ concern and suspicion. 

_I promised to always love, trust, and support him, yet here I am suspecting him of betraying everyone he’s ever loved,_ Sirius thought bitterly. _What kind of husband does that make me?_

The rain started up again as Sirius was locked in his internal debate, falling first in small droplets that dripped from the ends of his hair and ran down his cheeks, and then in heavy rivulets that stung like hail on impact. The combination of being soaked to the skin, freezing cold, and incredibly lonely pushed the man over the edge. Breathing hard, Sirius stopped in his tracks, picked up a smooth, round stone half-buried beneath the sand, and hurled it out into the ocean with an anguished cry. 

Again and again, Sirius bent down and retrieved whatever objects he could find – rocks, shells, bits of driftwood – and tossed them into the waves, putting as much force behind his throws as he could muster. He was exhausting himself, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when the Order was losing the war, and Remus was Merlin knows where holed up with a mangy pack of Voldemort-loving werewolves, for whom he was possibly – likely, even – spying. Sirius channelled all the rage he had been bottling up into this childish display of frustration, not caring whether anyone saw his temper tantrum. 

All of the insecurities about his and Remus’ relationship bubbled to the surface. What if Remus preferred the company of his kind, instead of Padfoot’s companionship during the full? What if he met someone else, someone who understood the emotional and physical pain that were so prevalent in Remus’ life? What if he had taken a _mate,_ had been driven into lust by the heady power of pack dynamics and the magical push of the moon? 

Drained and chilled to the bone, Sirius fell to his knees just inches from where the tide washed up against the sand. Sobs wracked his body, shaking his shoulders as he gasped for breath. If Effie Potter could see him now, she would insist that he pull himself together, if only for long enough to come inside so as to avoid pneumonia, warm up, and have a soothing cup of tea. 

But Mr. and Mrs. Potter were both gone, James and Lily were too far away to be of any help, and Remus – his kind, loving, beautiful Remus – might have joined the very enemy so many of their friends had fought - even died - to destroy.


	7. "it was just red"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is from a quote by Kait Rokowski:
> 
> _“Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red.”_
> 
> **CW: Unwanted sexual advances (non-graphic); graphic descriptions of wounds; lots of blood.**

As soon as the owl dropped the glass phial in Sirius’ hands, he knew that Remus was in trouble. He raced from the kitchen to the bedroom, where they kept the marble pensieve he had permanently borrowed from Grimmauld Place. After pulling the cork from the phial, he poured the silver thread of memory into the liquid-filled bowl, and watched as it unfurled into a dark, uninviting scene before him.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he leaned forward so that the tip of his nose might dip into the water. A familiar tugging sensation not unlike that of using a Portkey or Apparating came over him, and a moment later, he opened his eyes to find that he was standing outside a ramshackle wooden house. Glancing around to get an idea of his surroundings, he saw that the decrepit building was in a thin patch of forest. This provided enough context to make Apparition possible, but since the memory didn’t seem to stop here, he assumed that Remus intended for him to see the full thing. 

The house’s claw-marked front door was wide open, and a yellow light emanated from within, calling him up the front steps and into its rank-smelling interior. _Merlin, that’s foul,_ he thought, bringing a hand to his face and pinching his nose shut. _Not that Remus’ wolf smells like roses, but for the love of Christ, take a fucking bath, folks._

A rickety staircase was situated directly ahead, and at the sound of raised voices upstairs, Sirius ascended the construction nightmare two steps at a time, hoping that he might find Remus somewhere on the floor above. Of the four doors he could see from the top of the staircase, two were open. Peeking curiously into one, he found himself in the embarrassing situation of watching as a pair of werewolves in human form panted and groped at each other. He ducked back as quickly as possible because _ew, no thanks._

The other room held an equally distressing scene, but he knew it was what Remus intended for him to see. His husband, dressed in a pair of holey trousers and a shirt whose sleeves were easily two inches too short for its fraying cuffs to reach his bony wrists, was being backed into a corner by a much larger man. Remus’ expression was twisted into a ferocious sneer, and he was crouching slightly, ready to pounce if provoked. Whatever this chavvy bloke was trying to pull, Remus clearly wasn’t interested. 

“Come now, Romulus,” his balding assailant crooned, cocking his head slightly to one side as a predator might regard its prey. “What’s the harm in having a little fun together? Marcus and Layla are…otherwise occupied. Surely you know that there is a certain… _prestige,_ let’s say, in being chosen by a man in my position.” The man’s face wasn’t visible, but Sirius could almost see his lecherous grin in the tone of his voice. 

So the pack’s leader was propositioning him, and it didn’t seem that he was taking the hint that Remus had better things to do. _He has a mate,_ Padfoot snarled defensively at the back of Sirius’ mind. Had Remus informed this man that he wasn’t on the market – that he had someone waiting for him back home in England? 

“I’ll say it again, but not a third time, Nigel,” Remus warned, his amber eyes flashing as they reflected the light of a nearby oil lamp. “ _I’m not interested._ Back off.” 

Sirius thought Nigel might be choking, but moments later recognized the wet, hacking sound he was making as laughter. This cretin found Remus’ refusal _amusing_? Sirius’ blood was boiling beneath his skin; how dare someone look at, speak to his husband in such a disgusting, disrespectful manner?! He couldn’t deny that he was a jealous man by nature, but this situation surely justified the protectiveness he often felt over Remus. 

As Nigel lurched towards Remus, the smaller man lashed out with curved fingers, slashing his nails across the pack leader’s face. The man howled, clamping a hand to his cheek. Remus ducked beneath Nigel’s arm and left the room as quickly as possible, walking through Sirius – who had been watching from the doorway – as if he were a ghost. Black, inky tendrils began to cloud Sirius’ vision. The last thing he saw before darkness overcame him was the outraged face of Nigel, marred by a mouthful of decaying pointed teeth, and three deep, bleeding scratches. 

* * * * * 

Sucking in a series of gasping breaths, Sirius clutched at the sides of the pensieve, his shoulders heaving as gut-wrenching waves of nausea rolled over him. He didn’t have much to go on besides the location of house, and the fact that Remus had managed to royally piss off the leader of the pack he was staying with. Oh, and that the pack’s leader was a grade-A pervert who couldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. 

_If that creep has so much as looked at my Moony the wrong way,_ Sirius thought to himself, _I’ll skin him alive and leave him for the crows._

When he could move again without ejecting the meagre contents of his stomach, Sirius made for the trunk tucked away in the back of his and Remus’ cupboard that had been magically fitted with a false bottom. All members of the Order had some sort of hidden stash in their homes filled with whatever items they wanted to keep out of enemy hands, in the event of an attack. 

From the trunk he pulled James’ invisibility cloak (on loan for the time being), a set of robes that was charmed to deflect some of the more common curses used by Death Eaters, his favourite dragon-hide boots, a metal hip-flask that magically refilled itself, and a necklace he had been given by Dumbledore himself. From its chain hung a tiny glass pill-shaped pendant containing enough basilisk venom to kill a troll in seconds. 

Sirius dressed quickly, sent a Patronus off to let James know where he was going, and headed for the tree at the edge of the property, from which the wards cast over the cottage were set to allow Apparition. He brought the image of the werewolf den to the forefront of his mind, envisioned himself outside the house, and Disapparated with a loud *crack*. 

* * * * * 

_Deja-vu,_ Sirius thought grimly as he looked upon the house from Remus’ memory. His wand was clutched tightly in his hand, ready to use at the slightest sign of trouble. Through the hood of the invisibility cloak, he saw a single flickering light visible through a dirt-crusted upstairs window. His boots deadened the sound of his footsteps, but couldn’t prevent the creaking of one of the wooden steps up to the house beneath his body weight. 

The front door swung open to reveal the female he had seen in the memory earlier that day, but she was thankfully clothed this time. Unlike Remus, this woman had wolf-like characteristics even in human form; her eyes glowed fluorescent green in the dark, and were set far back in her face beneath a heavy brow. 

“Who’s there?” she growled, peering around the property. Baring her teeth, she took a step out onto the small porch. Sirius gauged this the perfect opportunity to use her forward momentum to his advantage, catching her off-guard with a whispered, _”Petrificus totalus!”_ Shifting sideways, he avoided being pinned beneath her as her frozen body careened down toward the grass. With a flick of his wand, he shifted her up against the house so that if someone were to look out the front door, they might not immediately raise the alarm. 

He continued on into the foyer, leaving the door open. Some houses relied on the front door being closed to activate the wards, and Sirius didn’t want to chance being locked inside just because he had been raised a courteous young man. 

The house smelled worse than it had in Remus’ memory – how this was even possible, Sirius wasn’t sure. What he was certain of was that the coppery tang of blood was thick in the air. _That’s not good,_ he thought, clenching his jaw tightly. 

Usually, he would have done a sweep of the main floor of a house before going upstairs. Since Remus hadn’t seen fit to include this part of the house in the memory he had sent, Sirius decided to chance it and make directly for the upper floor, the layout of which he was familiar. He kept his weight to the sides of the stairs, knowing that the centre had the least structural support, and thus was most likely to make sound when stepped upon. 

Only one door was open this time around – the one that opened into the room where he had seen Remus – and in it flickered the light he had seen from the front garden. Sirius applied locking charms to the other three doors just in case, because he didn’t want anyone to be able to jump out at him if those rooms were occupied. 

When he stepped into the room, Sirius’ heart dropped. It was empty but for a single occupant, whose still, slender body was draped half-on, half-off a mattress stained brown with dried blood. Remus was shirtless, his chest smeared with congealed blood. A series of ragged gashes tore across his skin, one so deep that Sirius thought he could see muscle. His stomach lurched, but there was nothing in it for him to vomit up. _I’m too late; he’s dead._

“Sirius?” came a breathy whisper from across the room. Remus’ eyelids fluttered, and his body moved a fraction of an inch before the pain overcame him. Sirius hurried to his side and fell to his knees, ripping the hood of his cloak from his head so that Remus might see him. 

“You came,” Remus whimpered, smiling wanly up at his husband. “I knew you would.” 

“Fucking hell, Rem,” Sirius cried softly, waving his wand over Remus’ shredded torso in an attempt to return some of the lost blood to his body. _“Vulnera sanentur!” As he suspected, the spell did nothing; the wounds weren’t fresh enough._

_“I think you should go,” Remus whispered, clutching at Sirius’ thigh. “He’s going to come back.”_

_“The hell I will,” Sirius hissed, sliding an arm beneath Remus’ shoulders. As he tried to lift him, blood gushed from his wounds, and Remus let out a terrible shriek. _Fuckfuckfuck,_ Sirius thought frantically. _If I try to move him, he’ll bleed out. 

The sound of a doorknob jiggling sounded down the hall. Sirius’ head snapped toward the noise; the door wouldn’t hold long, he knew, especially with an angry werewolf on the other side. 

“I’m getting you out of here, or I’m going to die trying,” Sirius told Remus, fierce in his determination to save the man’s life. “And then I’m going to come back and kill the fucker that did this to you.” 

“I sincerely doubt that,” a menacing voice spoke behind him. Sirius jumped to his feet, casting a non-verbal _Protego_ that stopped a bolt of pink light flashing towards him. In the doorway stood Nigel – who, if James were there with him, might have described the hulking man as “built like a brick shithouse.” Smelled like one, too, Sirius observed with a grimace. 

“You must be the mate Romulus – or should I say, _Remus_ – neglected to tell us about,” Nigel jeered, rolling his shoulders back. His joints cracked loudly, startling poor Remus where he lay. “A bit too bulky for my tastes, I’ll admit, but you’re pretty enough, boy.” 

Sirius couldn’t understand why the wolf wasn’t casting more spells at him. He had a wand, clearly, but it seemed much too easy right now for Sirius to disarm the man if he were to try. Something wasn’t right. Sure enough, when Sirius attempted a simple _Expelliarmus,_ he found that Nigel was protected by an extremely powerful nonverbal shield charm, which shimmered tauntingly as Sirius’ spell deflected off it. It would take an enormous distraction to break the man’s concentration enough for an offensive spell to land successfully. 

Sirius knew he had very limited time remaining to get Remus help. There was no way he could Apparate without splinching his husband in the process, and he wasn’t a skilled-enough healer to patch him up to the point where any magical mode of travel would be viable. Floo was out of the question, and a Portkey required set-up by the Ministry of Magic. He had few options, if any, and to top it all off, this bastard of a werewolf was standing in the way of their only exit. 

“I’m not surprised that you came to find him,” Nigel said, smiling viciously. “He’s delicious, isn’t he?” 

“Shut _up._ ” 

“I don’t think I will,” the wolfish man chuckled. “I rather liked how much of a tease he was, always playing hard to get. Does he like to tease you, too?” 

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Sirius barked through gritted teeth. His entire body was shaking. 

“Touchy, are we?” Nigel arched an eyebrow. “If he weren’t so tired, Remus might be able to tell you about all the _fun_ he and I had this evening. Too bad you couldn’t join—” 

“Sirius, are you here?” a voice shouted from the bottom of the stairs. Nigel whipped around, his wand raised to strike, but Sirius was faster. 

_“Eviscerato!”_ he thundered, his voice thick with malice and rageful intent, for that was the only way for a curse so terrible to be cast. 

Sirius had read about the spell in one of the Dark magic spellbooks in his parents’ library, and had shuddered to think of what sort of person might use such a spell. How ironic, he thought, that the key was love – love threatened by the separation of death. 

Time seemed to slow down as a bolt of Dark magic flew from the tip of his wand and struck the werewolf in the back, tearing down his spine and spreading along the lines of his ribs. The man let out a scream that shook the foundations of the house before falling to the floor. 

When Sirius opened his eyes, everything was red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Folks, idk how this got so dark so fast, but I'm blaming the spooky October vibes and the fact that I chose to set this during the First Wizarding War.


	8. "sing, Goddess"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is from Homer's _The Illiad._

As he stepped out of Remus' room to use the loo, all Sirius could think was, _Thank Merlin for Lily Evans Potter._ Not only had she – an incredibly skilled Healer, not unlike her late mother-in-law – stabilized Remus enough that he could be transported from the werewolf den to St. Mungo’s, but she had also secured him a single-occupant room, and a Mediwitch that wasn’t a prejudiced arsehole.

Remus was in bad shape, that much was clear. He had been awake for fewer minutes than Sirius could count on one hand since they had arrived at the hospital two days before, yet every Healer that visited the room and read through his chart agreed that his condition was improving. His injuries were extensive, and included a punctured lung, a fractured femur, near-fatal blood loss, and deep-tissue injuries to his abdomen, amongst other minor lacerations and bruises. His skin was sallow and his breathing laboured, which had Sirius refusing to leave his bedside unless James or Lily was there in his stead. 

Lily wasn’t technically on duty as a Healer, which meant that she could stay in Remus’ room and not have to worry about any other patients. She conferred with the staff on duty in regard to all of his treatments, and acted as an advocate if ever she felt that his care was less than exemplary because of his werewolf status. Well-respected by her colleagues, Lily even managed to convince the staff at St. Mungo’s that it was in everyone’s best interest that Remus be administered the experimental Wolfsbane Potion on the day of the full moon. It was still in clinical trials, but had shown excellent promise. As Remus couldn’t get out of bed, let alone make his full monthly transformation, the potion would keep the most painful and body-altering changes from occurring. Instead, only his mind would be impacted. 

Still, as a precaution, Remus was required to spend the night alone with his hospital room warded to prevent a possible escape. Sirius insisted on remaining with him as Padfoot, so while the staff was distracted at shift change, Lily snuck her husband’s best friend into the room so that Remus would have company. It was a kindness Sirius would never forget. 

A full two and a half weeks passed between the time Remus was first admitted to hospital and when he was awake and coherent for the first time. He opened his eyes to the face of an angel, whose brilliant green eyes and red hair bewitched him in an instant. 

“Lily,” he croaked, frowning at the gravelly scrape of his voice after weeks of disuse. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Lily, you’re _here._ ” 

“Of course I am, love,” she assured him, bending forward to press a kiss to his sweaty brow. “Voldemort himself couldn’t keep me from being here with you. You know that.” Remus tried to lift his shoulders from the bed, but found himself too weak. Lily clucked in sympathy, setting a hand to his shoulder to keep him from exerting himself. 

The room was small but cozy, with items strewn about that indicated just how loved Remus really was: his husband’s leather jacket slung over the arm of the sofa; a vase of ‘Get well soon’ flowers from Marlene and Dorcas; a pile of cardboard books and a wolf plush toy that belonged to his godson; and a rubbish bin filled to the brim with empty coffee cups, some stained with rosy pink lip marks. 

“Where’s Harry?” Remus inquired warily, twisting his head to look around the room. “And Sirius?” He didn’t remember much from the day of his attack, but he vaguely remembered that Sirius had come to his aid. Surely he had made it out in one piece, and was somewhere here in the hospital? 

“Harry’s at home with James, and Sirius needed the loo,” she told him, wringing out a wet cloth over the basin on his bedside table with her free hand. When she laid it across his forehead, he let out a whimper of relief. One of the potions he was taking had the unfortunate side effect of raising a person’s temperature, so a cooling cloth was just what he needed. 

“You’re in good hands, Rem, so don’t you worry a hair on your head.” 

“Course I am,” he mumbled, relaxing against his pillow. Remus fumbled for Lily’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze when he found it. “You’re a goddess, Lil. Dunno what I’d…do w’out ye.” He had only been away for a few minutes but exhaustion was already setting in, slowing and slurring his speech. 

“Don’t let Pads hear you say that,” she teased, running her thumb across the back of his hand exactly the way his mam did when he was sick in bed as a child (though Lily couldn’t know this). “Get some rest, darling. We’ll all be here when you wake up.” 

“Hmph,” he answered, nuzzling his cheek against his pillow. Remus drifted off easily, falling into dreams of auburn angels with sweet emerald eyes, and a mother’s loving touch.


	9. "and that they dance"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is from Mary Oliver's poem _Angels_ \- read it here --> https://allyourprettywords.tumblr.com/post/174434003306/angels-mary-oliver.

When the Lupin-Blacks arrived home the cottage was exactly as Sirius had left it three weeks before, when he had dropped everything and hurried to Remus’ aid. All the water in the kettle had evaporated, and the untouched teacup on the counter had a scummy film of mould floating on top of the off-brown liquid within. The clothes he had been wearing were in a pile on the bedroom floor, where they had been hastily discarded in favour of wizard’s robes and more solid footwear.

Remus leaned heavily on his cane as he limped from the hearth to the sofa, brushing off Sirius’ attempts to help him walk. 

“Pads, I’m _fine,_ ” he insisted, collapsing onto the brown leather loveseat. “The healers said I’m alright to walk on my own now, so there’s no need to baby me.” 

“They didn’t say I couldn’t baby _my baby,_ ” Sirius pouted, parking himself on the edge of their stout coffee table. Remus rolled his eyes at his husband’s disgusting use of the word ‘baby’ as a term of endearment, but couldn’t help the smile that came over him when Sirius leaned forward and kissed him sweetly. 

“New rule,” Remus told him between kisses. “You’re to treat me like the intelligent and capable human-wolf hybrid I am, and only assist me if and when I explicitly request it.” 

“But you’ll never actually ask when you need it,” Sirius scolded, ruffling Remus’ curls with his knuckles. “You never have. Not as a boy, not as a teen, and certainly not now. Let me take care of you, Moony,” he beseeched, looking straight into the man’s soul through his honey-coloured eyes. Let me show you that I love you.” 

“I know you do,” Remus said, softly cupping Sirius’ jaw with a warm hand. “You don’t have to prove it to me by carrying me around and doing everything for me, Pads. Just you being here is enough.” 

“I wish it could be,” Sirius whispered back, turning his face in so as to kiss his husband’s palm. It was a rather ominous statement, Remus thought, but he let it slide, thinking that Sirius was just feeling sentimental now that they were home from the hospital. 

In a few days’ time, he would come to see how wrong he had been. 

* * * * * 

Remus wanted nothing more than to be back on his feet, so he followed the healers’ recommended physical therapy regimen to a ‘T’. He did his stretches and exercises as soon as he was out of bed in the morning, and took Padfoot (usually the dog, sometimes the man) for a walk twice a day, pushing to travel a bit further each time. They used this reprieve Dumbledore had granted them from the war to the best of their ability, spending as much time together as possible. 

When the first week of October rolled around, Sirius surprised Remus with a picnic lunch on their property complete with all his autumn favourites – mulled wine, thick, creamy potato soup, and flaky pastries – chocolate, apple cinnamon, and pumpkin. 

“Now, what’s all this about?” Remus asked, sucking a drip of molten chocolate from his thumb. Sirius shrugged nonchalantly as if him baking and cooking were an everyday occurrence. Something about his demeanour was off, Remus thought, but he wasn’t going to press it if Sirius didn’t want to discuss it – not when today had been so perfect. 

“It’s been five years, you know,” Sirius said eventually, twisting a blade of grass between his thumb and forefinger. He was lounging on his side, holding his weight up on one elbow. “Since you and I got together, that is. Five years today.” 

“I—I didn’t realize you were counting,” Remus murmured, frowning slightly. “I figured our wedding anniversary was a good place to count from, but if I’d known this was important to you as well...” 

“No, that’s not what this is about,” Sirius assured him, shifting his leg so that he could stroke the round bone of Remus’ ankle with his stocking-clad foot. “I didn’t expect you to know the specific date or anything. Just wanted something to celebrate. So I thought, ‘Why not the day we quit being a pair of pining fools’?” 

“I was so nervous when you asked me to meet you in the Astronomy Tower,” Remus admitted, reminiscing on that chilly October day back in fifth year. “People only ever went there—” 

“—To get off together, yes,” Sirius laughed, resting his head on the picnic blanket and staring up at his husband with a boyish grin. “That’s why it had to be there, you numpty. I didn’t want there to be any way for you to misunderstand my intentions.” 

“Ah, I see,” Remus said, nodding wisely. “At the time, I thought you must be so daft to have invited me there. I had no idea what you were going to say.” 

“Of course you thought that,” Sirius scoffed, playfully poking Remus in the ribs. He was careful to avoid the centre of his chest, where his newest scars were still paper-thin and susceptible to re-injury. “You never have been able to understand just how gorgeous and funny and sweet you are. Everyone thinks it, you know; I’m just the only one who’s ever been brave enough to say it to your face.” 

Instead of responding, Remus threaded his fingers into Sirius’ ink black hair, scratching at his scalp in exactly the way he liked. Sirius wiggled his body closer, laid his head in the man’s lap, angling it so that Remus would have access to his whole scalp. If Sirius' tongue had lolled out of his mouth in a show of canine pleasure, it wouldn’t have surprised Remus a lick. 

They were still outside when the sun dipped below the horizon, taking with it the heat of the day. As soon as Remus pulled the sleeves of his cardigan down over his hands like a makeshift pair of mittens, Sirius declared it time to retreat into the warmth of the cottage. Remus went on ahead of him to put the kettle on while Sirius packed up their dishes and blanket. 

When he entered the cottage, Sirius found that Remus had stoked the fire in the hearth and put on a record – Nick Drake’s _Pink Moon_ , a mutual favourite. In the kitchen, Sirius pulled his sleepy partner into a tight embrace, which morphed into a slow, amorous swaying of bodies that looked an awful lot like dancing. Remus let Sirius lead him in gentle circles, trusting that he would keep him from striking a hip against the counter. 

“This is nice,” Remus murmured, breathing a puff of warm air against Sirius’ ear as he spoke. 

“It is,” Sirius agreed, resting his chin on his husband’s shoulder. They moved in time with the music, knowing exactly where the other’s feet would go and when. For the length of a few songs, they enjoyed their last moments of peace and happiness – a sort of calm before the storm.


	10. "even if it burns"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is taken from Tracy K. Smith's poem _Don't You Wonder, Sometimes?_ Read it here --> https://alisonmcghee.com/2014/10/25/poem-of-the-week-by-tracy-k-smith-2/

**October 1976**

“I’m mad about you,” Sirius announced as soon as Remus had taken a seat on the stone sill of one of the Astronomy Tower’s windows. 

“Pardon me?” Remus asked, choking on the bit of muffin he had just popped into his mouth. “You’re… _what_?” 

“Mad. About you. I...I love you, Remus.” Sirius folded his arms across his chest in slight annoyance at his friend’s clueless expression. 

“Well, Pads, I love you too, of course,” the curly-haired teen said, swallowing hard. “I love you all – you and James and Pete. You’re my best mates.” 

“You’re deliberately misunderstanding me,” Sirius accused. “I’m not saying ‘I love you as a friend’, Moony. _I fancy you._ Have for ages.” 

“No, you don’t,” Remus told him, gripping the edge of the stone sill so hard that his knuckles went white. “That’s impossible. You like girls.” 

“Sure, I _like_ girls,” Sirius agreed, bravely stepping closer to his best friend so that he couldn’t run away in a panic, which, going by the way Remus’ face was paling, was a real possibility. “But Rem, I’ve never been _in love_ with a girl. It’s not the same thing at all.” 

“I’m a werewolf.” Remus decided to change his tactics. If reminding Sirius of his hook-ups wasn’t going to work, then the “furry little problem” would have to do. 

“I don’t remember learning about anything that prevents werewolves from being loved in Defense Against the Dark Arts.” 

“No? What about the whole ‘turning into a murderous monster once a month’ thing?” Remus inquired, staring Sirius down. “Tends to put a damper on romantic relationships.” 

“Oh, so instead of pretending not to hear me correctly, you’re going with, ‘I’m an unlovable beast’?” Sirius demanded. “For such a smart bloke, you can be a real prat sometimes, Moony.” 

“Thanks for that,” Remus snapped, sliding down from his seat. “I’ll be off to bed now, seeing as it’s past curfew and I’m not on prefect duty tonight. I suggest you do the same, Padfoot.” 

“Fat chance,” Sirius snorted, grabbing a fistful of Remus’ robes and yanking him close. “Shut up for a minute, will you?” And then they were kissing. 

Remus set his hands against Sirius’ shoulders, meaning to push his friend away, but he never got around to it. Sirius’ mouth was warm and wet against his, which he had always thought might be gross, but in reality was anything but. 

“Close your eyes, you numpty,” Sirius murmured against Remus’ lips. “M’not going to attack you. Just want a bit of this.” The shorter teen backed the taller against the tower wall and set his hands high on his waist so as not to spook him by moving too fast. Remus snapped his eyes shut and pressed his mouth harder against Sirius’. Was this how it was supposed to work? He’d never kissed anyone before – not even a peck on a girl’s lips during a game – so he wasn’t quite sure. 

“What are you doing?” Remus gasped when Sirius slid his tongue experimentally along the boy’s lower lip. 

“Do you not want me to do that?” Sirius asked, pulling back for a second so he could gauge where Remus was at. “Some people like the way it feels. Thought I’d see if you’re one of them.” 

“Uh, I don’t really know,” Remus mumbled. “Maybe, er, try it again? Slower this time?” 

Sirius did as he was asked, showing Remus how to deepen a kiss by opening his mouth a bit more, giving and taking a bit more lip. His friend was by no means a natural, but he was learning quickly enough. 

When Sirius’ hands began to wander, Remus froze up again. 

“Sirius, stop,” he instructed, giving his friend a firm push away but not letting go of his robes. “What are we doing right now?” 

“Uh. Well…snogging, I thought,” Sirius answered, confused by the question. “I mean, I’m quite certain that’s what they call this sort of thing. Surely Lyall and Hope didn’t shelter you _that_ much.” 

“Don’t be such a knobhead,” Remus chastised with a frown. “Yes, we’re snogging. Obviously. I’m asking _why_.” 

“Merlin’s beard, this again?” Sirius muttered under his breath. “I’m arse over tea kettle for you, Rem. Can’t stop thinking about you, even when I try. Every time I look at you, my stomach gets all wobbly, and little hearts float out of my ears.” That last bit earned him an eye roll. 

“So you’re…not just trying to figure out whether you fancy blokes or something?” Remus clarified, chewing his lower lip nervously. “Because if that’s what this is, you’d best stop now. Just because I’m your friend and I fancy blokes doesn’t mean I’m willing to be your plaything.” 

“No! Of course that’s not it,” Sirius insisted, horrified that Remus had considered such a thing for even a moment. “I meant what I said – I love you. I want us to be…y’know, a real couple. Like Frank and Alice, but…er, we’re both blokes.” 

Remus watched Sirius carefully as he gave his short speech. He wasn’t pulling weird faces, or making any of the gestures he usually did when he was joking around. It seemed too good to be true, but Remus eventually came to the conclusion that his friend was telling the truth. Unfortunately, that didn’t solve any of the issues that were bound to arise from a relationship between two friends. 

“What would we tell James and Peter?” Remus asked. “I highly doubt they’re just going to shrug and say, “Good on you, lads,” or whatever.” 

“The truth,” Sirius shrugged. “That I’m mad for you, and you’ve agreed to date me because of my roguish good looks and charming manners.” 

“Oh, is that the truth?” Remus raised an eyebrow in question. “I don’t think you’ve even given me a chance to say whether I fancy you back or not.” 

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He hadn’t even considered this possibility. Was Remus just messing around with him? 

“I’m joking, Pads,” Remus teased gently, leaning forward to press a shy kiss to Sirius’ blushing cheek. “I’ve been gone for you since third year. Never thought in a million years that you’d feel the same way, but here we are.” 

“Indeed,” Sirius said, smiling into another soft kiss. “We’ll tell James and Pete when we’re ready, and we’ll figure things out from there, alright? It’s you and me against the world, Moons, and fuck anyone that tries to stop us.” 

“Well, I’d prefer you didn’t,” Remus said, coughing with embarrassment. “Fuck anyone else, that is.” Sirius’ eyes went wide, and he felt his heart skip a beat. 

“Oh my god,” Sirius groaned, leaning his forehead against Remus’ chest. “You’re going to kill me, Rem. You can’t just say things like that and expect me not to light on fire.” 

“Maybe that’s what I was going for,” Remus shrugged, a sly smile pulling at his lips. “Guess you’ll have to keep me around if you want to find out.” 

* * * * * 

That night in the Astronomy Tower solidified Sirius and Remus as a couple. From then on, it _was_ them against the world – and the world was rarely kind to a couple like them. 

As soon as the Blacks caught wind of their son dating another boy, they sent a trunk with his belongings and a letter informing him that he was no longer welcome at 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius smashed his porridge bowl to pieces in front of the entire Great Hall and ran off to hide in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Remus didn’t know how to help other than to hold him as he cried. 

James and Peter took the news with stoic expressions – even waited until their friends had finished talking before Peter slipped a few galleons into a smirking James Potter’s hand. They had been betting for a full year on how long it would take the couple to make things official. James was sure it would be within two months of the start of fifth year. 

The Hogwarts student body was divided into three schools of thought: 1) Remus and Sirius made a good pair – opposites attract and all that; 2) That it was none of anyone’s business which Gryffindors were snogging behind the greenhouses; and 3) That it was a disgrace for the heir to the House of Black to be consorting with a half-blood. Most everyone, with the exception of Slytherin house, fell into the first two categories, and the two teens didn’t care a fig for anyone who fell within the latter. 

Professor McGonagall was both incredibly supportive, but also terribly embarrassing. She insisted that both boys sit through a presentation by Madam Pomfrey on appropriate relationships, and gave the pair a stern lecture about expectations of student behaviour in the dormitories. She also told them that if ever they felt the need to talk to someone safe, she was available with a listening ear. Sirius might even have taken her up on it, if he could just get the image of the ‘Spells for Safer Sex’ pamphlet she’d given them out of his head. 

Hope Lupin extended an open invitation for Sirius to spend holidays and breaks with their family in Wales, which he took up on every occasion on which the Potters hadn’t already called bagsy. He and Hope bonded over a love for cooking and baking, which she instilled on him later that year when he and Remus travelled to Bangor for Easter. 

Lyall was a tougher nut to crack, but Sirius won him over with his extensive knowledge of werewolf and other creature legislation. In fact, Sirius was hoping to join the Department for the Control of Magical Creatures when he finished at Hogwarts, a fact by which Remus was deeply touched. Aside from the number of incidents in which Mr. Lupin had walked in on them snogging (or worse), Sirius was pretty sure he could expect a good word from his future father-in-law when it came to snagging a job with the Ministry. 

In the five years Remus and Sirius were together, they went through periods of immense joy as well as intense pain. They loved each other deeply, but also argued over silly things, and fell into ruts where they just weren’t on the same wavelength. They bought a cottage together, got married, became godfathers to baby Harry, and joined the Order of the Phoenix, both making major contributions to the war efforts. 

Through it all, neither Sirius nor Remus ever regretted their decision to start a relationship. Not until that fateful day in October of 1981 – the day that changed _everything._


	11. "death and ambition, even love"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt is taken from Raymond Carver's poem _Happiness._ Read it here --> https://roymarshall.wordpress.com/2016/06/02/happiness-by-raymond-carver/.
> 
> **CW: Halloween 1981; blood, murder mention**

Two weeks before Halloween, all hell broke loose at the cottage.

Sirius wasn’t sure which part of the epic row he and Remus had that evening was worse – the look of pure shock on his husband’s face when Sirius explained why he couldn’t just hide away at the cottage after performing the Fidelius charm on the Potters’ house, or the metallic _ping_ of Remus’ wedding band hitting the tile backsplash in the kitchen after he’d chucked it at Sirius’ head and stormed out into the night. 

* * * * * 

“He thinks I was the spy.” Remus’ mouth fell open, and his eyebrows drew together sharply. “Dumbledore thinks I’m the spy, and you bloody _agree_ with him?!” When Sirius didn’t respond, Remus stumbled backwards in shock. 

“You were surrounded by his allies all the time, Remus,” Sirius said in his own defense. “Isn’t it possible you could have accidentally let something slip?” 

“Could I have let something slip to the enemy, who will stop at nothing to murder the people I love?” Remus screamed, throwing his teacup to the ground where it shattered on the kitchen floor. “Does being a werewolf make me that fucking untrustworthy? Jesus sodding Christ, Sirius – you’re my husband! Whatever happened to having faith in me?” 

“Remus, please try to understand,” Sirius begged, stepping towards him. “Who else had the opportunity, or any reason—” 

“You!” Sirius’ mouth snapped shut. 

“Me?” the raven-haired man repeated stupidly. 

“You, the heir to the House of Black whose beloved younger brother was a known favourite of the Dark Lord before his untimely death,” Remus accused, his amber eyes deadly as he regarded Sirius. “Is it really such a surprise, Sirius? No one really believed you were happy living such a mundane life. In this hovel, and with a mangy werewolf to boot? _Please._ You could have Grimmauld and every other bloody mansion your bigoted family owns in a heartbeat if you agreed to let slip a few secrets to your dear cousins. We all know Bella’s been aching for you to join the family circle. _Toujours pur,_ and all that.” 

“You—you’re fucking unbelievable,” Sirius replied, his voice trembling. Of all the things Remus could accuse him of, this was the worst by far – a dagger to the heart. Did Remus really believe that Sirius would give up the Order, their closest friends, his own _husband,_ in exchange for wealth and material possessions? 

“Quite,” Remus nodded, inspecting his fingernails. “Hard to imagine the man you’ve agreed to spend your life with doubting your loyalties, isn’t it?” His tone was calm at first, but when he glanced up and met Sirius’ silver gaze, he lost his cool. “After _everything_ we’ve been through together, I thought that of all people, at least I could trust you, Sirius. So to find out after putting my life on the line time and time again that you don’t believe me strong enough to keep my fucking mouth shut about the Order, about Lily and James – about _Harry_ for Merlin’s sake?! Feels like drinking a glass of molten silver. So,” Remus said, pausing for a moment to wipe hot tears from his cheeks, “if you’ll excuse me…” 

Sirius watched as Remus twisted the yellow gold band off his left ring finger and held it in his palm, swallowed hard as his husband read the engraving - _ad astra ex luna; from the stars to the moon_ – one last time. 

“If you take that off…” Sirius threatened feebly. 

“Fuck you.” Remus grabbed his coat, the one with the elbow patches that he’d refused to trade in for something newer even though they had the money, lobbed his ring at Sirius’ head, and stormed out of the cottage, slamming the door shut so hard that it shook the foundation of the little house. He disappeared into the night, leaving his cane in the umbrella stand, and his husband in a pool of tears on the kitchen floor. 

* * * * * 

Late on Halloween night, the night of the full, an urgent letter arrived for Remus from Dumbledore himself. Sirius hadn’t slept yet that night, entirely consumed by the realization that Remus was locked away in some dank cellar instead of running around with Sirius, like he should be. The moon hung in the sky as far from the Dog Star as Sirius had ever seen it, as though even the heavens were aware of their separation. 

If he and Remus had reconciled, he might still be calling this cottage home, because Peter – by Sirius’ own suggestion – had been made Secret Keeper. In a selfish attempt to save his marriage, Sirius had proposed this last-minute switch to his friends as a foolproof way to ensure their security, because anyone who knew the couple was aware that Sirius was their closest confidante, and as such, a shoe-in for Secret Keeper. Even Dumbledore was unaware of this fact, unless Lily or James had let him know. Remus, however, had refused every attempt he’d made at reconciliation. 

If the owl delivering the letter hadn’t been so insistent in its attack on the glass of the kitchen window, and if it hadn’t pecked his hand bloody trying to get him to open the letter, Sirius would have left in unopened on the counter for Remus to read in the morning. The man would be back to lick his wounds and sleep here in the morning, because Sirius was due to be gone by then. The pair had arranged for him to collect his belongings while Remus was out for the night. 

The manic bird insisted that its delivery be opened immediately, so Sirius found himself breaking the seal and skimming the letter’s contents in order to satisfy the creature. When he read mention of the Potters, he started the letter over again, reading it three times in full before it really hit him. _The Potters are dead, killed by Voldemort himself._

The implications were immediately clear to Sirius. Remus hadn’t been the spy. It had been Peter the entire time, right under their noses. This revelation had Sirius in a fury greater than any he’d ever experienced – even greater than the unbridled rage he’d been in when he tore apart the werewolf that had nearly killed Remus a few months before. That man had deserved to die, Sirius truly believed, and so did Peter. 

So blinded by anger was Sirius that he left no note for his husband explaining the truth, though it would have made a world of difference to the Ministry of Magic in his fate had he chosen to do so. He donned his fighting gear – his cloak and boots, irreparably stained with the blood of Remus’ werewolf captor who had died by his hand – and set off to find the rat that was responsible for his world falling apart. 

Remus would come home in the morning to find Sirius’ abandoned clothes, his magic trunk empty of the robes he always wore to battle, the letter from Dumbledore open on the counter beside an untouched cup of tea, and assume the worst – that Sirius really had betrayed their friends, and had run away to escape the consequences. He would open the Prophet a few days later and learn that his husband had murdered 12 Muggles, as well as dear, innocent Peter, for no apparent reason. 

There would be no trial, because the Aurors who captured Sirius found him at the scene of the crime could not get him to say a word – not to incriminate himself, nor in his own defense. It was a cut and dry case; Sirius Black had finally gone off the rails. 

* * * * * 

Remus’ blood ran cold when Dumbledore relayed the story of Sirius’ capture – how the man he loved had stood there in the street, surrounded by the bodies of innocent men and women, and laughed like a madman.


	12. "and what of the dead"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from Anne Sexton's poem _The Truth the Dead Know. Read it here -- > https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42564/the-truth-the-dead-know_

Azkaban was as dreadful as Sirius had known it would be – worse than he could have imagined, even. And that was saying something, because the worst thing he could possibly imagine had already happened. James and Lily were gone, and little Harry, too. This last bit isn’t true, but there was no way for Sirius to know.

The prison sat in the middle of the North Sea on an island just big enough for the building itself, a graveyard, and a dock where inmates were received from (and rarely, returned to) the mainland by boat. The atmosphere above the place had been charmed into a state of permanent stormy weather, sending freezing cold waves crashing against the prison all hours of the day. Even those in cells above the reach of the waves couldn’t escape the cold; horizontal sheets of rain, and occasionally sleet or hail came in through the windows, keeping prison’s floors in a constant state of wetness. 

But it was not the oppressive darkness, or the stink of unwashed bodies, or the frigid water and frosty air, or even the never-ending isolation that made Azkaban such a terrible place; it was, of course, the dementors. 

The dark, hooded creatures patrolled both within and without the prison, serving as guards to the witches and wizards imprisoned there. They delivered meagre rations to their captives, prepared somewhere in the belly of the massive stone structure by house elves. Every time one of the nasty creatures passed by Sirius’ cell, he felt another piece of himself slip away, for the dementors fed on happy memories and feelings of joy. 

First to go were the burbling giggles of Sirius’ godson, followed by memories of Harry at the park, Harry tangling his pudgy fingers in Padfoot’s fur, Harry gazing up at Sirius with Lily’s emerald eyes. By the end of his first month? year? there, nearly all Sirius could recall of the boy was the time he had tripped on the front step at the cottage and skinned his knee, which had resulted in a half-hour of inconsolable wailing. Those were the freshest of his good memories. 

Other memories slipped away from him as time pressed on – his Hogwarts heydays; long nights spent in Remus’ arms; evenings at the pub with James and Peter. No matter how he begged, the dementors drank those precious moments away with greedy thirst, unable to manufacture any memories of their own. 

Left behind were the things that had kept him awake as a child, as a teen – his mother’s grating voice calling him every nasty word she could conjure up; the agonizing crack of Orion’s leather belt against the backs of his legs; Remus screaming in pain as his bones snapped; Remus bleeding out in his arms; the disappointment and utter betrayal on Remus’ face the last night they had been together. 

The dementors left behind a few memories that surprised Sirius, for they were, in essence, memories that had once brought him joy. Now, though, the images of sweet, compassionate Lily, and James, the brother he never deserved, cut deep. It hurt more to relive those memories than it would have if they had been stolen away, because they served as a reminder that if not for him, they might still be alive. 

In prison, Sirius was hungry, freezing, exhausted, and lonely; he became an empty shell of the man he once was. He wondered every day whether his husband had lived or died, what he might be doing now, howled at the full moon every month, heavy with grief at having left Moony to face the nights alone. He longed for the sweet kiss of death, that he might be reunited with those he had loved, but it was not granted, for death was a mercy the dementors were unwilling to give. 

Azkaban wrought terrible pain and suffering on Sirius, and it was all of his own making.


	13. "the fearless flight"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from this quote by Oscar Wilde:
> 
> _"Never regret thy fall,  
>  O Icarus of the fearless flight  
>  For the greatest tragedy of them all  
>  Is never to feel the burning light."_
> 
> **CW: Mention of suicidal ideation and suicidal thoughts**

The morning after the November full moon was the most excruciating in Remus’ living memory. With James dead, Peter but a smudge on a bit of London asphalt, and Sirius in Azkaban, Remus was well and truly alone for the first time in years. He spent the three days leading up to the full in bed, his joints aching fiercely, summoning tea from the kitchen whenever he woke from the fever-dreams that kept him in a state of perpetual exhaustion.

On the day of, he limped down into the cellar below the cottage, which Sirius had significantly (and illegally) extended using magic in the early days of their involvement with the Order, knowing that there would be times where Remus would need to transform on his own. The realization that this would be the new normal tied his stomach in knots. 

Like his parents’ cellar, the floors and walls had been cushion-charmed to prevent the wolf from concussing itself. Sirius had also cast a series of complicated heating and cooling charms that would adjust based on the fluctuating temperature of Remus’ body. There was even a concealed, wolf-proof lockbox so that his wand, clothes, and some blankets would be safe from harm until the moon had set the next morning. 

Descending into the cellar was a pain unto itself. How could Sirius have cared enough to prepare a space like this, yet still betray their friends at their greatest hour of need? It was incomprehensible. 

Remus spelled the cellar door shut, safely stowed his wand and clothing in the lockbox, and laid down on the ground to wait for the transformation to begin. He tried to do one of the breathing exercises Madam Pomfrey had taught him to calm himself, but found it impossible to fill his mind by thoughts and images of Sirius - his beautiful, raven-black hair; the curve of his lips when he smiled; his raucous laugh; the sharp slate-grey of his gaze; the warmth of his body as he lay pressed against Remus in the night. 

As the moon rose in the sky, Remus began to change. His bones snapped as they extended. Sharp claws ripped through the nail beds of his fingers and toes. Fur sprouted from every hair follicle, covering his body in a mix of pin-straight tawny-brown and grey fur. If the fur were to grow like his natural hair, he might have looked more like a giant labradoodle than a wolf, an idea that had always amused his friends. 

The shift from Remus’ own teeth to those of the wolf was probably one of the most uncomfortable aspects of the change; his gums always bled as the structure of his teeth shifted from flat grazing molars to razor-sharp canines, leaving the taste of hot, tangy blood lingering on his tongue. His mouth would ache for days afterward. Remus imagined the throbbing pain to be much like that experienced by his Muggle friends from childhood after having their braces adjusted by the orthodontist. 

When his transformation was complete, Remus was no longer conscious to the world; the wolf took over both his body and mind, leaving him with no memory of the nights events. Tonight, the wolf seemed to be drawing on the anguish its host had been living with over the last month, expressing its despair in every way possible. It howled until its throat was raw, threw itself against the walls, scratched and tore at its skin as though it had run through a patch of poison ivy. The creature had no regard for the man within who would wake in the morning in its place, bruised and bloody. 

* * * * * 

In his twenty-one years of life, Remus had occasionally flirted with the idea of dying. He had always known that the wolf would claim him someday, had believed he would be the first of his friend group to die (of natural causes). He hadn’t been reckless with his life as Sirius had, but had found himself in enough precarious situations since joining the Order to warrant his father’s concerns. 

Since the Potters’ death and Sirius’ arrest, it had become less of a fleeting idea, and more the solution to his loneliness and isolation. He would be leaving behind no one of importance besides Lyall, but he figured that his father would get over the death of his werewolf son; after all, he was tainted and cursed by the magical malady Lyall had spent his life combating. With the lack of emphasis put on mental health in the wizarding world, no one else was aware of the deep relief the thought of death brought Remus. 

Death was the first and only thought on Remus’ mind when he woke that November morning - the only thing that might relieve the intense physical and emotional pain he was in. It would have been simple enough for a healer with any level of skill to set his bones properly and knit his wounds back together, but even the strongest healing spell could not repair his broken heart. The best thing to do, he decided, was to let his wounds bleed freely, figuring that he could be unconscious within minutes, and dead by the time the clock chimed on the next hour. 

What was the point, he thought, of continuing to live when the people who had made his life worthwhile were gone for good? On second thought, what had been the point of having friends at all if they were just going to be snatched away in the prime of their lives? Had the joys they’d experienced together really justified the excruciating pain he was in now? 

The memory of his conversation with Sirius after Regulus’ passing briefly flashed in his mind, but he pushed it away with what little mental energy he had available. This was nothing like Regulus’ death, or like his mother’s; Lily and James had died in vain, because the man who had meant more to him than anyone else in the world had betrayed them all. How could anything be truly good if even a man like Sirius could be turned against his friends? 

Remus’ thoughts began to blur around their edges as his blood continued to seep out of his wounds. _Not long now,_ he figured. He closed his eyes, took as deep a breath as he could, and ruminated on the idea that he might soon be at peace, or at least away from the woes and strife of this mortal coil. 

The last thing he heard as he slipped into unconsciousness was Minerva McGonagall’s disappointed _tsk tsk_ \- rather an odd way to be greeted in the afterlife, he mused, but fitting; she had always been his favourite professor. 

* * * * * 

Not only did the greeter at the pearly gates sound an awful lot like his old head of house, but the place itself had the appearance of a middle-aged Scottish woman’s country cottage. Remus let out a loud, groggy yawn, opening his eyes to see a blazing fire in the hearth and a mossy-green afghan draped over his lower body. The air smelled of warm apples and cinnamon, as if someone had recently baked a pie. 

A slim, ginger cat bounded up into Remus’ lap, startling him so badly he nearly fell off the…sofa? Why was he on a sofa, and what the hell kind of heaven was this? 

“Ah, you’re awake, Mr. Lupin,” came his former professor’s strong brogue from across the room. McGonagall, draped in a floor-length dressing gown, acknowledged him over the cup of tea she was drinking. “Perfect timing.” 

“Er—perfect timing for what, Professor?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he tried to comprehend how he might have landed himself in the woman’s small house. 

“For me to ask what in _Merlin’s bloody name you were thinking!_ ” she roared, standing abruptly from the wooden table where she had been sitting. “Locking yourself away without telling a soul so that you could—could bleed to death on the floor? I expected better of you, Mr. Lupin.” The professor’s pale cheeks had flushed red, and her eyes pierced him clean through with guilt.

“You don’t understand,” Remus whined miserably, shrinking into himself. “I was - _am_ \- alone, and everything hurt so much. All I had to do was close my eyes, and…” Tears sprung to his eyes, and a shuddering sob tore from his throat, still sore after the wolf having howled it raw. 

“Oh, Remus,” McGonagall sighed, her expression softening considerably. She was at his side not a moment later, brushing his hair back from his forehead and cradling him to her bosom, as a mother would her weeping child - the difference being that she was a childless widow, and he a grown man. 

“They’re all gone,” he whimpered, shaking as he cried in McGonagall’s arms. “What am I s-s-supposed to do now? It hurts _so much_. What if it feels like this forever?” The professor held her student close until his trembling ceased, and he was able to pull himself together for the time being. She summoned a chair from the kitchen table with the flick of her wrist, seating herself at his side and taking his scarred hand in hers. 

“I won’t lie to you, dear,” she said, stroking his curls gently, “You have not lived an easy life. I _know_ how much your friends meant to you.” He glanced up sharply at her intonation, knowing that it couldn’t be a coincidence. The sparkle in her eyes told him everything - that she knew about James, Peter and Sirius’ illegal completion of the Animagus process; that she had been aware for years; that she wasn’t angry. 

“You’ve experienced a terrible loss, Remus, and for that I am truly sorry. I loved James and Lily, too. And Sirius…” Her forehead wrinkled, and she closed her eyes, deeply distressed. “I know that nothing anyone says can return what has been taken from you. It is no easy thing to mourn the lives of the living or the dead. But this pain, the grief weighing so heavily on you now, will not last forever.” 

“How can you know?” he asked, his voice small. When McGonagall looked down at him, she saw the 11-year-old child he had been on the day they first met, a decade ago now. In a low voice, she shared stories of the loves she had lost in her life - love of all different kinds, much like Remus’ own. 

First, her father died in a terrible accident; her mother, only two years later of dragonpox. She had to raise her two younger brothers to adulthood, and gave up her teen years to become a parent. As a young woman, she fell in love with and became engaged to a Muggle man, but broke off the engagement to spare him the difficulty of living secretly between two worlds. 

For years, she had longed to be a mother, but when she did eventually marry, she lost two children during her pregnancies, and a son only a year after his birth. Her husband had died by suicide shortly after, leaving her to grieve a tremendous loss alone. Her friends from Hogwarts pitied her, but gave little support, and her brothers had long since moved to America to start new lives. 

“Did you ever wish you’d never loved them?” Remus asked softly once she’d finished. 

“Many times,” she admitted, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I was devastated, and angry, and lonely, and sadder than I knew a person could ever be and still survive. But today - now that I’ve had time to work through all of those intense feelings - I’m so glad that I had them all in my life, whether I got to love them for a minute, or for many years.” 

“Better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all,” Remus quoted. That was essentially what he had told Sirius after Regulus had died, but it was easy to say, and less easy to believe when he was the one who had lost what felt like everything. 

Sensing that it might be best if they just sat quietly, McGonagall transfigured her wooden chair into a more comfortable reclining seat, into which she settled for the foreseeable future. Remus yanked the afghan on his lap up to his nose and closed his eyes, but never released the professor’s hand. The fire burned until it was naught but embers, providing warmth to the witch and wizard whose hearts kept beating in spite of their grief.


	14. "you want to die for love"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from Richard Siken's poem _Planet of Love._ Read it here --> https://genius.com/Richard-siken-planet-of-love-annotated

Sirius’ escape plan began with two words: _Harry Potter._

Based on the thin lines he’d sliced into the back of his calf with a handy sliver of rock each month, it had been nearly 12 years - 138 moons, to be exact - since he had been out in the free world. Rarely was there chatter in the halls of Azkaban prison, but ever since the groundskeeper from Hogwarts had been brought in and locked in the cell across the corridor (just out of Sirius’ line of sight, goddammit), there had been Aurors coming to visit every now and then to ask questions. Questions like: _Did you open the Chamber of Secrets,_ and _What is your relationship to Harry Potter?_ Those were the sort of questions Sirius was interested in as well. Unfortunately, the half-giant was usually too worked up to give coherent answers; the fellow cried like Sirius had never heard another man do. 

One evening, in a short period of quiet where the rain had stopped buffeting the outer walls of the prison, Sirius took a chance and pressed his slender face to the bars of his cell, peeking out towards the next cell. It was just the two in this corridor, so there was only one other person that might hear him. The dementors weren’t due to bring dinner by for a while, so he figured it would be safe enough to risk calling out to his neighbour. 

“Hey, you there,” he whispered loudly, his voice gruff and hoarse from disuse. It was the first time he had said anything to another living human, not counting the Auror he'd cursed at when the man passed his cell a few weeks back. “Hey, you!” 

“Hullo?” Hagrid grumbled sullenly. 

“Yes! Yes, you. Can you hear me?” Sirius grinned, thrilled that he had caught the man’s attention. “You’re from Hogwarts, right? You work at the castle?” 

“Wha’s it t’yeh?” 

“I heard those arseholes from the Ministry questioning you,” Sirius said, choosing his words carefully. His voice was different enough that Hagrid probably wouldn’t recognize him by it, but if he slipped up, mentioned the Potter boy, it would be all over. He’d not get a scrap of information from a man that believed him to have betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord. 

“They must be mad. It’s impossible that the Chamber’s been reopened, isn’t it?” He played on what he had heard Hagrid insist to the lovely ~~wankers~~ folks from the DMLE - that no mere child could open the Chamber of Secrets, and that it certainly hadn’t been him who had opened it, just as it hadn’t been all those years ago. 

“S’absolute bollocks,” Hagrid answered in agreement. Something heavy scraped across the floor of the cell down the way - he had moved closer to the entrance so he could hear better, Sirius realized. “Strange things ‘ave been goin’ on at Hogwarts these last few years, though. I reckon it’s because of young Harry—ah, I should’na said nothin’. You could be one’a _His_ cronies, for all I know.” 

“I’m no one’s _crony,_ that’s for certain,” Sirius muttered darkly. He had to think quickly, come up with a crime for which he might be imprisoned that wouldn’t turn Hagrid away. “I’m serving fifteen years for, er…importing illegal potions ingredients. The ministry didn’t care that I was doing it to try to find a cure for a terrible magical illness for my…wife. She was bitten by a werewolf.” 

Hagrid offered a gentle _hmm_ in sympathy for Sirius’ invented situation. “Surely you’ve ‘eard of the Wolfsbane Potion,” he offered after a minute of silent contemplation. “Our potions master at the school ‘as just started brewin’ it recently. Costly stuff, an’ challengin’ to make, as I understan’ it.” 

“Whatever for?” Sirius asked, his breath hitching in his throat as intuition tickled warm within his chest. There had only ever been one werewolf student at the school, and that student had surely grown up to be a brilliant man - a man who might now teach at Hogwarts. When the half-giant didn’t immediately respond, Sirius added, “It’s not as though I’ve anyone to tell. Your secret is safe with me, Mister Hagrid.” 

“I suppose tha’s true,” Hagrid agreed, ruminating on what he could and couldn’t say for a moment before continuing. “Dumbledore ‘as an old friend who were bitten by a werewolf when he were just a sprog. Moons have been difficult for ‘im these last few months, I’ve ‘eard tell, so Professor Snape’s been helpin’ the poor feller out.” 

_Snape?!_ Sirius thought, outraged. _What’s that slimy git doing teaching at Hogwarts? What was Dumbledore thinking, allowing such an unsavoury character to interact with young people. With Harry, of all people!_

“That’s very kind of your potions master,” Sirius said through gritted teeth. “And lucky for your headmaster’s friend. Wolfsbane was only in experimental phases back when…when I was a free man. Not something my husb— _wife_ and I could rely on.” If Hagrid noticed Sirius’ slip-up, he said nothing. 

Sirius slunk back towards the hard cot in the corner of his cell and curled up on it, needing some time to think through all he had heard. The most important bits were these: 1) that Harry Potter had survived Voldemort’s attack at Godric’s Hollow all those years ago, and was a student at Hogwarts now; 2) That Remus had survived the war; and 3) That Remus was doing poorly, requiring the Wolfsbane Potion to ease the stresses of his transformations on his body. 

His options were very limited - die in Azkaban, die trying to escape, or succeed in escaping. The island was well-protected by its dark wardens, physical features, isolated location, and whatever wards had been set to keep its inhabitants in place, all of which were enormous challenges to overcome. He had time on his side - all the time in the world, really, because he would remain a prisoner here until the end of his days if the Ministry had their way. 

Unbeknownst to the Ministry, Sirius had plenty of tricks up his ragged sleeves. He was a powerful and rather brilliant wizard by anyone’s standards. If he’d actually put effort into his studies at Hogwarts, he could have easily competed with the likes of Remus and Lily. Instead, he’d channeled his energy and motivation into pissing off his bigoted parents, and earning the record for most detentions served with James Potter. 

That he was an Animagus was still a secret from the ministry. He’d never registered, having gone through the stages of the difficult process beneath Minnie McGonagall’s nose, and Remus wasn’t a snitch. The dog was large, but if he were to cut back on the frankly horrific meals the prison served thrice daily, he was sure he could manage to slip through the gap between the bars and the stone wall when the door was opened. As far as he knew, dementors paid animals no mind. Sneaking away as Padfoot was likely his only real option. 

Braving the freezing cold waters of the North Sea wasn’t an option - both Sirius and Padfoot would die of hypothermia, and it was too far from the mainland to swim. Apparition magic wasn’t possible on the island, so he’d need to sneak out when the transport ship came by to drop off new inmates, or to ferry inmates back to the mainland. Based on the conversations he’d overheard between Hagrid and the Aurors, the half-giant was in custody for precautionary reasons, and only until matters were dealt with at the school, so if Sirius timed things properly, he might be able to hitch a ride with Hagrid. 

A ghostly moan drifted down the corridor, drawing Sirius’ attention away from his escape plan. He frowned, turned towards the cell’s barred door, and listened more closely until he could identify the noise - Hagrid was crying again. The dripping of condensed water droplets from the ceiling onto the floor was enough to make a man go mad, but to add the tangible proof of another human’s fear and suffering was too much. Sirius shivered as the eerie moan echoed around his cell. 

A black tendril of tattered fabric floated into Sirius’ view, just outside the cell door, his blood ran cold. He must have been off in his guess as to what time it was. Dark, scaly fingers reached out and unlocked the door, which let out a metallic squeal as it was wrenched open. A dementor drifted into the cell, its veiled face turned towards the slender man cowering on the bed. 

The creature set down a tray of food - rice, vegetables, some sort of stew - on the floor, hovered in place as though it were watching Sirius, and finally left once it was satisfied that he had no memories worth consuming. Though his Hogwarts days had been enjoyable, Sirius certainly hadn’t possessed enough happy memories to last him 12 years. The door creaked shut, was sealed with magic, and the creature left Sirius to his own devices. 

When his laboured had slowed, Sirius unfolded his body from the fetal position he’d taken on during the warden’s visit and sat up in bed so as to see the small window set in the wall of the cell. The moon was waning tonight, just a luminescent fingernail in the sky. Remus was safe for now, and that was all he had the energy to care about. Soon enough, he would make his escape attempt, and either make it back to Remus, or die trying.


	15. "in vain I have struggled"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from Jane Austen's _Pride & Prejudice_ (which just so happens to be my favourite book).

As he had done a thousand times before, Remus awoke to the first rays of sunlight filtering through his bedroom curtains. With a groan, he turned over in bed and closed his eyes, willing the sun to please sink back below the horizon because he was not quite ready for the day just yet. To his great displeasure, the sun did no such thing, and instead continued its slow ascent into the sky.

The warm scent of Glengettie steeping in the kitchen wafted into the room as though Tilly was crouched just outside, fanning steam beneath the door to encourage her master to get up. Remus didn’t keep a clock in the bedroom, but he guessed it to be around eight o’clock, as the matronly house elf only afforded him a good lie-in a few days a month (after the full), and today was not one of those days. 

“Tilly can hear Master Remus stirring,” her voice squeaked in the hall, “So he might as well get out of bed and have some breakfast.” 

“Might he as well?” Remus grumbled, but the elf offered no response. With a heavy sigh, he hauled himself upright, scooted to the edge of the bed, and shifted his legs over the edge. His slippers - a gift from McGonagall two Christmases ago - were waiting for him there. Bones and joints creaked in protest as he stood, but now that he was out from beneath the bedclothes, he was obligated to fetch his housecoat from the desk chair across the room before all the warmth could abandon his body. 

“Good morning, sir,” Tilly greeted him at the door, a stack of clean towels in hand. 

“That is yet to be determined,” Remus answered, rubbing the base of his palm against a stubbled cheek. He shuffled along to the toilet, mumbling curses beneath his breath as he went. After a good piss and a half-hearted attempt to tamp down his greying hair, he settled in at the kitchen table for a plate of beans and toast. 

It appeared that Tilly had made an effort to organize the ever-growing stacks of books and parchment that typically served as decor, because he could actually see a bit of the scuffed wood tabletop. She had even set out a little wicker basket for collecting post, of which there was little; only Dumbledore ever sent letters, and only ever with inquiries into some little-known law, spell, or artifact. The elderly wizard had employed Remus as a sort of research clerk for the better part of a decade, as he was unable to hold a Ministry position or other ‘regular’ job. 

A single unopened letter bearing the official Hogwarts seal sat in the basket that morning, but Remus had no intention of opening it until he had finished eating, had bathed, and shaved. Routine was everything these days; without it, Remus tended to lie around in bed and mope. 

“Did you have a chance to read _The Prophet_ this morning, Tilly?” he inquired. “Anything of interest?” 

“Master had best have his tea first,” Tilly advised, eyeing him with concern. He frowned at her ominous comment, but did as he was instructed, having a few bites of the buttery toast with his tea. After a few minutes, he tilted the cup in her direction so that she might see that it was empty. 

“Alright, what’s the big news, then?” he wondered. Tilly came to his side and set a hand onto his knee in a gesture of comfort and support. 

“Mister Dumbledore has made Tilly promise that if Master becomes upset, she is to call for him immediately,” she said in preface. Remus raised an eyebrow, but nodded for her to continue. “The papers are saying that Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.” The teacup slipped from Remus’ grasp and shattered on the floor, but he didn’t even seem to notice the sound. 

_Lupin-Black,_ Remus’ brain corrected out of habit, as if his husband’s surname mattered at all right now. “Sirius has broken out of Azkaban,” he repeated, staring at the elf who had just subtly waved a hand and vanished the broken cup. “You’re quite certain? Has the Ministry confirmed it?” 

“According to the Headmaster, yes, sir,” Tilly nodded gravely. “The gentleman interviewed by _The Prophet_ was confident that Black would be apprehended within the week.” 

“Fat chance,” Remus muttered under his breath. If the man was smart enough to escape the most high-security wizarding prison in the world, then surely he was smart enough not to get caught a second time. A thousand questions raced through his mind, but none of them were answerable just yet. Only time would tell why Sirius had waited all these years to make his break. 

Tilly grasped anxiously at the fabric of her shift, made from the remnants of an old flour sack. Her master hadn’t burst into tears, nor was he raging around the kitchen like she had thought he might. She knew how to deal with an angry man, and a sad man, but this was new territory. His calm, silent demeanour concerned her greatly. 

“Well,” Remus sighed, sitting back in his chair, “That’s that, I suppose. Thank you for letting me know, Tilly.” He pushed his plate away and reached for the letter from Dumbledore, certain that it would contain some further explanation. To his great surprise (and dissatisfaction), this is what he found intead: 

Mr. R. Lupin Lupin-Black Cottage Llanllechid Gwynedd 

Dear Mr. Remus Lupin, 

We are pleased to offer you the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry for the term beginning 1 September of this calendar year. Room and board are included in your salary, which is to be arranged with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore at your earliest convenience. 

Yours sincerely, Minverva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress 

Unlike the letter Remus had received the year of his eleventh birthday, this one did not give a deadline for his reply. It was not so much an “offer” as it was a letter informing him that he would be leaving his unofficial clerking position, and taking up the professorship at Hogwarts. He knew Dumbledore well enough to realize that “no” would not be taken for an answer, even though his immediate instinct was to send a Howler to the man with a list of all the reasons a thirty-something werewolf married to a convicted murdered ought not to be responsible for a classroom full of impressionable children under any circumstance. 

“Tilly, be a dear and read this letter for me,” he requested, passing the sheet of parchment to the elf. “If I’m not insane, and this is saying what I think it is, I’d appreciate a glass of firewhiskey when you’ve got a moment.” The elf made to protest, because it wasn’t even half eight, but the man’s vacant expression stopped her. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him, and the pipes began to clang as he turned on the taps to run a bath. 

* * * * * 

When Remus emerged from the bathroom, clean-shaven and smelling of lavender, he found that his breakfast dishes had been cleaned away, and in their place, a three-finger measure of firewhiskey.


	16. "we beat on"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from F. Scott Fitzgerald's _The Great Gatsby._

As Remus anticipated, Dumbledore somehow managed to convince him that becoming a Hogwarts professor was not only possible for him, but a brilliant idea, and why hadn’t they thought of this before? Remus hadn’t given in easily, however; it had taken nearly two and a half weeks, 17 letters, and three in-person meetings for a mutually-agreeable contract to be written up and signed by both parties.

The biggest issue, of course, had been the management of Remus’ _furry little problem._ In his earlier years, he was recovered enough a day after the moon to return to class without much trouble. Now, though, he was in such intense pain the two days prior, and two days after that he could hardly get out of bed. He used his cane more often than not, as his left hip had been dislocated and fractured so many times that the cartilage within the joint had worn away. Severus Snape had been providing him with Wolfsbane Potion for a year already, and was to continue doing so because it provided immense (though not complete) relief during the transformations. 

Remus’ demands were few. He didn’t care about his salary or accommodations, because he’d lived on little all his life. He knew the food at Hogwarts was delicious. Time off and medical services were assured, and Madam Pomfrey, who had been an incredible support to Remus during his days as a student, was to oversee his care. His only real condition was that he would not set foot in the Shrieking Shack ever again. The reason he gave Dumbledore was that he was concerned for the safety of the students, as evidenced by the near-miss event where Snape had nearly been killed by the wolf, but in reality, Remus was unprepared for the emotional challenge of returning to the house that held a thousand memories of James, Peter, and Sirius. 

Setting aside the intense pain of transforming into the wolf, Remus had rather enjoyed the times he and his friends had spent in the shack. Other students didn’t know how to access it, so it gave the four boys a secret spot to hide out when they weren’t interested in weekends at Hogsmeade. It also turned out to be the perfect place to light up, which three of the four boys were wont to do on any given weekend (Peter less so). James had once snuck in with Lily under the impression that they might have the chance to be alone away from prying eyes, only to find (to their horror) that they were intruding on Remus and Sirius during an intimate moment that James insisted would be burnt into the backs of his eyelids for the rest of his life. 

And so, Dumbledore assured Remus that he would outfit a room at the school where Remus could spend the full as safely as possible. 

Remus stood at his bedside and stared at the trunk Tilly had set out on the bed, in which he was to pack his things. She couldn’t have known when digging through the bedroom cupboard that this had belonged to Sirius, or that Remus had been avoiding it since the day his husband had left. It looked empty enough when opened, but Remus knew that if one used the right words, the bottom would open to reveal a secret compartment. Sirius had kept the things he wore on Order missions here, but Remus had repurposed it immediately after his husband’s departure to store all of Sirius’ personal affects. 

With shaking hands, Remus drew out a small stack of books Sirius had loved - mostly worn Muggle paperbacks with dog-eared pages, but also a leather-bound journal that had belonged to his beloved uncle Alphard. Next came the shirts that Remus couldn’t bear the thought of giving away. Most of Sirius’ clothes had gone to a Muggle secondhand store, but his quidditch jerseys and the ratty old t-shirt he used to wear to bed in the winter months were too precious to give away. When he got to the photo frames, Remus had to keep them face-down as he tucked them beneath the bed so he wouldn’t break down at the sight of his friends’ smiles and laughter. 

The last item left in the trunk was the worst, and most dangerous. Remus knew he should ask Tilly to dispose of it, or tuck it away somewhere he would never have to look at it again, but something made him reach in and pull it out. Sirius’ leather jacket looked the same as it had 12 years before, when it was typically found hanging on the back of a chair in their kitchen when not in use. The burnished black fabric was cool to the touch, and the scent of motor oil still clung to it. 

_Don’t you fucking dare,_ the wolf warned in a rare moment of solidarity with Remus. Its voice was in his head more often now than it had been in his younger years, and had become much harder to ignore. _Remus, nothing good can come of this. It will only make us sad. Put it back._

“Piss off,” Remus murmured, unfolding the jacket and slipping his arms into its sleeves. As soon as he had it on, he dipped his face into the collar and inhaled pure nostalgia - cigarette smoke, Sirius’ cologne, and the faint smell of Padfoot’s fur. Remus sunk to his knees, ignoring the pain in his hip as he allowed himself to drown in the warmth of the memories the jacket brought on. 

Tilly found him curled up on the floor half an hour later, crying harder than he had in years. Because he was essentially inconsolable, she was so kind as to levitate his body into bed and tuck his blankets around him. After a hot cup of tea, she had him give verbal packing instructions, figuring it to be the best way to get his belongings in order. He was due to be in London that night so he could catch the Hogwarts Express the following morning, so this was the last chance he had to gather everything he would need for the school year. 

In went the few clothes he had - threadbare shirts and pairs of slacks in shades of brown and grey, two sets of robes that were similarly worn, and enough socks and underwear that he could go a good while without doing laundry. The elf forbade him from bringing his favourite knitted cardigan, but acquiesced once he gave her permission to patch the elbows. She also placed a limit on the number of books he could bring, and so many were related to his work that he could only bring a few of his personal favourites. He was particularly insistent upon his heavily-annotated copy of Gilderoy Lockhart’s _Wanderings with Werewolves,_ because every time he opened the thing he found himself crying with laughter, it was so bloody ridiculous. 

Though Tilly tried to convince him otherwise, he did, in the end, pack the jacket. Even Remus himself didn’t quite understand why he felt so strongly about bringing the damned thing with him. The wolf suggested that perhaps he might see Sirius again, and be able to return the jacket to its rightful owner, to which Remus responded with the promise of an extra-strong dose of Wolfsbane at the next moon. He tucked the jacket away safely at the bottom of the trunk exactly where he had found it before locking the trunk and setting it by the door. 

* * * * * 

“Master Remus must _promise_ Tilly that he will eat breakfast every day, even if he doesn’t feel hungry,” the elf insisted, passing Remus his travel cloak and setting out his newly-shined shoes. “Tilly has friends who work in the Hogwarts kitchen, so she will know right away if he is starving himself.” 

“I promise,” Remus told her, rolling his eyes but smiling fondly. “And I also promise to do my laundry before I run out of clean underwear, and to never turn them inside out to get a second day’s use out of them.” Tilly blinked up at him in abject horror at the very thought of such a heinous disregard for personal hygiene. 

“Tilly will miss Master, even though serving him has been very stressful,” she said with a deep sigh. “Master must let Tilly know as soon as he is returning home so that she can prepare the cottage. Master mustn’t return home to a cold house; his bones do not like the cold.” 

“The moment I know, you will, too,” he vowed. “Thank you for everything, Tilly. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” Remus smiled down at the elf, who had come to be in his service at the insistence of Minerva McGonagall after a series of difficult moons. The elf cared very much for the man, even though he exasperated her to no end. 

“Tilly wishes Master Remus good luck in his time at Hogwarts,” she sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. “Even though she is very concerned about the frequency with which he will launder his undergarments.” 

She watched from the window as Remus crossed the yard, leaning heavily on his cane while levitating his trunk alongside. He turned and waved when he reached the edge of the property, and with a dampened _*crack*_ of magic, he was off to London. 

Tilly thought for a moment that she saw a large, black dog sitting where the grass met the trees, a few feet from where Remus had just Disapparated, but when she blinked and looked more closely, the creature was gone. Just a trick of the light, she figured.


	17. "facing the sunshine"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from E.M. Forster's _A Room with A View._

Sirius was curled up on his cot when breakfast and his weekly allowance of ‘necessities’ were delivered. He knew without having to look what these items would be: a pack of matches, seven slim beeswax candles (one per day), a single bog roll (to be used sparingly), and a half-bar of unscented tallow soap. Other items were available for purchase, such as quills, parchment, or shampoo, but with no one to write home to, and no family member to arrange transfers of money into his commissary account, Sirius stuck to the bare necessities.

What he hadn’t anticipated was a visitor. A man cleared his throat outside the cell, startling Sirius. He sat up immediately and looked to the barred door, where an Auror and another fellow in pinstriped robes stood waiting. 

“Good morning, Mr. Black,” the Auror addressed him cordially. Sirius nodded and repeated the greeting in his soft, gravelly voice. “This is Mr. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. He’s joining me for a tour of the prison today.” 

“Good to meet you, sir. I’d say welcome, but…” Sirius trailed off, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards in rye amusement. 

“Yes, well,” Fudge said, smiling awkwardly. At that moment, a wild, gleeful bout of high-pitched laughter echoed through the corridor, coming from a cell several floors above Sirius. Based on the Minister’s nervous swallow and faltering smile, the noise was quite distressing. 

“Have you met my cousin Bella, sir?” Sirius inquired politely, pointing upwards. The man’s wide eyes told Sirius that he would really prefer _not_ to make Bellatrix’s acquaintance. 

“Do you have many visitors, Mr. Black?” the Minister asked, diverting the conversation. “I seem to recall you being married - what was your wife’s name again?” The man didn’t mean anything by it - really, he had just been trying to make a connection - but it was still the wrong question to ask. 

“No. No visitors,” Sirius answered curtly. “I hope you enjoy the remainder of your tour, sir. Thank you for stopping by.” And with that, Sirius lay back down on his cot and turned towards the wall, bringing the conversation to an abrupt end. The Auror offered a terse whispered explanation to the Minister, which Sirius pointedly ignored, because he wasn’t interested in discussing the fact that technically, yes, he was married, but that he and his husband had separated on difficult terms shortly before his arrest. 

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Black,” the Minister offered in farewell. There was a rustling of paper, the quiet slap of something hitting the stone floor of the cell, and then they were off. The men’s retreating footsteps echoed around the corridor before tapering off into the distance as they went to visit another area of the prison, leaving Sirius alone once again. 

As much as he didn’t want to get up, he knew that his breakfast was likely better hot than lukewarm. He scarfed down just enough of his breakfast that he wouldn’t starve. He was six months into his escape plan, and had lost nearly 10 kilos (none of which his body could really spare) since he had started cutting down at mealtime. 

Beside the meal tray, along with his weekly ration of candles, was a copy of the Saturday edition of _The Daily Prophet,_ which Cornelius Fudge must have left for him. Curious to see whether the paper featured anything of interest, Sirius lit a candle, cursing softly when the wick didn’t light right away and the match’s hot flame licked his skin. Sucking the injured finger into his mouth in an attempt to soothe the pain, he used his other hand to bring the paper close enough to the candle to read the front page. 

_Grand Prize Winner Visits Egypt_ read the headline above a photo, which featured a large family waving to the camera in front of the pyramids. The article went on to explain that Arthur Weasley, now working as head of the department for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, had won a 700 Galleon prize in a Daily Prophet contest. He and Molly, along with six of their children, had used the money to visit their eldest son, a curse breaker for Gringotts bank in Cairo. 

Though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were about ten years his senior, Sirius had been good friends with Molly’s twin brothers, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who had died in service of the Order of the Phoenix. In the front page photo stood two identical teen boys that reminded Sirius immediately of his brave red-haired friends. It was fitting that Molly and Arthur had twins of their own, almost as if their boys had been born in memory of Gid and Fab. 

A small movement at the centre of the photo caught Sirius’ eye. He withdrew his finger from his mouth and gripped the paper tightly, bringing it as close to the candle flame as he dared. In the hands of the youngest Weasley boy was a rat that Sirius recognized even in a grainy photo. The rat stared into the camera as if it knew this was what it ought to do when being photographed. 

_“Peter,”_ Sirius whispered, his eyes growing wide. He stared at the moving image for a full minute, just to be sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. What an incredible coincidence that on today of all days, a newspaper with the image of Peter Pettigrew would wind up in Sirius’ hands. It was as good as a sign from above that it was _time_. He felt like shouting the news to the entire building, but refrained for obvious reasons. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to himself now - not when he was about to make his daring escape. 

There wasn’t much Sirius could do to prepare, other than to enjoy the entirety of his lunch tray; he would need his energy later. He paced back and forth across the cell, becoming more agitated and excited as the day went on. When he heard the creak of the cell door opening down the corridor, he moved to sit beside his own door. He would have only a short window of opportunity to sneak out, and it was vital that the dementors see him in his human form before he shifted into Padfoot. 

His heart thudded heard beneath his ribs as a dementor drifted up to the cell door and peered inside, though it had no eyes that Sirius could see. If it could sense a change in his demeanour, it didn’t show it; there was no difference in the way that it moved. Sirius pulled his legs out of view, took a deep breath, and imagined himself in Padfoot’s scrawny, shaggy body. When he opened his eyes a moment later, he saw the cell door open, and a scaly hand bearing a tray slide in through the slim opening. The hand drew back, but before the dementor could pull the door shut, Padfoot quietly slipped through the gap between the bars and the stone wall and out into the dark corridor. 

The cell door swung shut, and off the dementor went down the hall, taking no notice of Padfoot slinking along the floor on his belly. He was a mangy-looking thing now, resembling a stray instead of the proud beast he had been in his days of running around the forest with Remus on the full. The dog’s heart continued to pound faster and faster, so loud that Padfoot could barely think. The only thought that really mattered at this point was _Out. Get out._

Padfoot’s fur blended into the dark stone walls and floors of the prison, though he could have probably snuck past the prison’s dark wardens even if he were as white as snow. They didn’t seem to sense his presence at all in his canine form. So long as there were no humans between him and an exit from the prison, Padfoot would be safe until he reached the water. 

* * * * * 

As Sirius had anticipated, the temperature of the North Sea was unpleasant. Now that it was July, it was as warm as it would be at any point during the year, and that was his only saving grace. Padfoot was an excellent swimmer, but if he had tried to make the journey back in the winter when Hagrid had been in the next cell over (as he’d originally planned), he would have surely died of hypothermia. Though the water wasn’t nearly as warm as he’d have liked it to be, it invigorated him in a way he hadn’t felt since long before his incarceration. It felt just like jumping into the pond behind Monty and Effie Potter’s house, something he hadn’t thought about in years. He thought the dementors had stolen such memories from him, but if he was thinking of it now with fondness, perhaps his ability to feel joy had only been dampened in their constant presence. 

Sirius was absolutely certain that James Potter was advocating for him from whatever spirit realm he existed in now, because the ocean was calmer than Sirius had seen it in ages, without the massive waves that usually sent water smashing against the rocky shore. The sun even peeked through the clouds long enough for him to get his bearings; he was pretty sure that land was west, so he would need to swim directly towards the yellow-orange ball creeping down towards the horizon. 

_Pretend you’re one of those Muggles who’s swam across the English Channel,_ he repeated over and over in his head as Padfoot paddled through the water. _And whatever you do, don’t think about sharks…fuck, now all I can think about is sharks._

Padfoot swam and swam and swam, pushing on through his exhaustion only because his life depended on it. When the sun set, the nearly-full moon rose in its place, illuminating the water with bright, white light. The moon, of course, reminded him of Remus, and for a while he used the image of his beloved friend and husband as incentive to go on. 

When he was out of range of Azkaban, he transformed back into his human body, knowing that human Sirius could swim much more quickly than Padfoot. He knew that he had a limited amount of time before anyone would realize he was gone - probably until breakfast, when the dementors would find his dinner tray untouched and his cell empty. This encouraged him to take as few rest breaks as possible. Floating on his back allowed him to regain a bit of energy, or to at least allow his heart rate and breathing to slow to the point that he could continue on. 

Away from the storm that hovered constantly over Azkaban, the stars were finally visible to him. When the sky was at its darkest, Sirius shifted from a front crawl to a backstroke so that he might look up and appreciate the twinkling lights for the first time in years. He identified the star that was his own namesake in the Great Dog constellation, as well as the star within Leo called Regulus, for which his younger brother had been named. As was typical with children born into the Black family, they had both been fascinated by the night sky and the stars that inhabited it, and were able to identify all 48 traditional constellations before they were eight years old. 

When he allowed his thoughts to shift towards his physical body, he could identify that his limbs felt like jelly, he was beyond the point of exhaustion, and every moment, he was becoming more and more sure that the dementors would come floating over the water and drag him back to Azkaban. But just before the dark of night faded into the soft yellow-pink light of dawn, Sirius caught sight of a beam of light in the distance, flashing in and out of view every few seconds. With excitement, he realized it was a lighthouse. 

* * * * * 

His legs were so tired when he finally reached shore that he couldn’t even stand. All he could do was let the water wash him up onto the sand, where he lay not fifty feet from the lighthouse for the better part of three hours, asleep despite the cool, salty water washing up over him. 

Sirius shifted into Padfoot just in time for the old Muggle living in the shack beside the lighthouse to come by, walking his equally elderly St. Bernard along the beachfront. The hulking dog approached Padfoot’s weary body cautiously, wagging its tail with excitement when the shaggy black dog shifted his head just enough to signal that he was alive. 

“Would you look at this poor sod,” the grey-bearded seaman cooed in sympathy. “I’ve never seen a pup so tired. Let’s get you sommat to drink, old fella.” The man left his dog to keep Padfoot company while he ran up to his house to fetch a dish of fresh water. When he returned, Padfoot lapped it up without spilling a drop before lying his head back down on the sand. 

“If you’ll let me carry you up to the house, old boy, I can give yer a place to rest,” the old lighthouse-keeper told Padfoot, as though he knew the dog would understand. 

And so Padfoot (who was, of course, a man), hardly more than skin and bones, was carried up the rocky beachfront to the little shack beside the lighthouse. After a hot bath to rinse the brine from his coat, he was fed a hearty meal of beef stew and allowed to sleep on a cozy knit blanket in front of the hearth. Freedom was so much warmer and brighter than Sirius could have imagined.


	18. "terror made me cruel"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from Emily Brontë's _Wuthering Heights._

The first-year students in Remus’ Defense Against the Dark Arts class had more questions than he had ever thought possible for children to have. The group was a mix, as always, of students with both, one, or no wizarding parents, which meant that some students knew more about the magical world than others. Nearly every session, he found himself struggling to steer their attention back to the topic of the day’s lesson, whether it be defensive spells or dark creatures.

“As I was saying,” Remus said, tapping the projector with his wand to change the photo on the screen, “The gytrash operates in packs of two to six members, depending upon the prey they are hunting, similar to some non-magical dog species.” 

“Are they always white?” Romilda Vane asked, neglecting once again to raise her hand. Remus breathed deeply through his nose, trying hard to keep his patience. He knew all these questions were just out of curiosity, and he’d rather answer them today than have them serve as distractions in later lessons. 

“As far as I know, yes,” he answered. “Gytrashes are spirits, so they are similar in colouring to other spirits such as ghosts or will o’ the wisps.” 

“And there are some here on the Hogwarts grounds, right?” Romilda pressed on. “You’re sure they’re only white? They can’t be black? And they always come out at night, not during the day?” 

“It sounds as though you have something on your mind, Ms. Vane,” Remus mused, raising an eyebrow. A few students around her giggled, but her friend Mary Dearborn elbowed her in encouragement. 

“Well, um, Mary and I were out for a walk last weekend,” Romilda explained, leaving out the bit about how they had been following Harry Potter and his friends, “And when we passed Hagrid’s to see the, um, pumpkins he’s been growing, we saw a big, black dog on the edge of the forest, just watching us. I was wondering if maybe that could be a gytrash.” 

“Hagrid has a dog, does he not?” Remus offered weakly. An image of Padfoot flashed in his mind, shaggy and proud like his human form. “Fang, isn’t it?” 

“Fang is a big drooly beast,” Mary piped up, scrunching her nose in distaste. “The dog we saw was big like Fang, but really scrawny, like he hadn’t eaten anything in ages. And he had pointy ears! Fang’s are all floppy.” 

“Perhaps we’ve a pack of wolves roaming the Forbidden Forest,” Remus answered. “I’ll inform Hagrid as soon as possible. Thank you for letting me know, girls.” And with that, he tapped the overhead and moved on in his lecture, despite the confused expressions on his students’ faces. 

* * * * * 

_Sirius is here on Hogwarts grounds, and he’s been seen lurking by students._

It was all Remus could think about for the rest of the day, which proved to be an incredible distraction - one that had him five minutes into a lesson meant for his fifth-year class when a very confused Collin Creevey raised his hand and reminded him that they were meant to be learning about the Disarming Charm. 

Once he had excused his last class at the end of their lesson, he locked himself in his study so that he might come up with a solution that would both protect students, and also prevent him from losing his job. After all, it was he who had neglected to inform Dumbledore and other Ministry authorities that Sirius was an unregistered Animagus. This was almost certainly how the man had escaped Azkaban undetected, and Remus had known it all along. 

Remus considered where Sirius might be hiding, and thought immediately of the Shrieking Shack. He was no longer spending his moons there, but it was still boarded up and inaccessible to curious students, except through the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow that express few knew of - Sirius included. He might be hiding out in the forest as well, but there were plenty of creatures there that would not take well to the presence an escaped convict. And there was the whole issue of the dementors prowling the castle grounds; surely Sirius would want to avoid them. 

If he visited the Shrieking Shack in person, he couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t kill Sirius on the spot. If he was after Harry, like the Ministry believed him to be, then Remus wouldn’t take any chances; he loved the boy, and would protect him at all costs. He also wasn’t sure he could see his husband’s face for the first time in twelve years without going into some sort of emotional tailspin. He hated the man, and he loved him, and he wasn’t sure which would win. 

In the end, Remus decided to send a letter to the Shack. If Sirius was there, he would receive it. If he wasn’t, then the owl would return the letter to the castle without issue, and at least he would know. Either way, he will have done _something._

~ ~ ~ 

_Padfoot,_

_There are a thousand things I could say to you right now, but there isn’t enough parchment in the world. If you know what’s good for you, leave the boy alone and get the hell away from Hogwarts. I never want to see you again._

~ ~ ~ 

Remus signed the letter with a hastily drawn crescent moon in place of his name, and sent it with one of the smaller, less ostentatious owls to be delivered as soon as possible, with the instruction that the owl was to stay and bring back the reply, if there was one to be had. 

He cried for a full ten minutes afterwards, but wasn't quite sure why. 

* * * * * 

Sirius’ answer came discreetly under cover of night, directly to the window of Remus’ bedchamber. The owl tapped his beak so quietly against the pane of glass that Remus mistook it at first for the wind. With trembling hands, he pulled open the window, traded the note tied to the bird’s foot for a bit of dried meat, and sent the creature back to the Owlery. 

The reply was short, having been written on a bit of parchment likely torn from Remus’ original message, but was penned in the unmistakeable scrawl of his husband: 

~ ~ ~ 

_Peter Pettigrew is alive._


	19. "heroic grief"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from Nikos Kazantzakis' novel _The Rock Garden._
> 
> **Note:** A majority of the dialogue is either directly quoting or paraphrasing two scenes in the 2004 Prisoner of Azkaban film, not because I can't come up with my own dialogue, but because I fucking love that movie and think the scene was perf. Credit to Steve Kloves, who wrote the screenplay for PoA.

Remus knew what the folded parchment in Snape’s hand was before he even touched it. An icy stab of fear ran through his heart at the thought of Harry wandering the castle with the Marauders’ Map - a map that would lead Sirius right to him; a map that Sirius knew exactly how to use.

“I seriously doubt it Severus,” Remus said, huffing a fake, breathy laugh. "It looks to me as though it’s merely a parchment designed to insult anyone who tries to read it.” He looked to Harry and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I suspect it’s a Zonko product.” 

When Snape lunged for the map, Lupin snatched it out of his reach. “Nevertheless,” he said, growing serious, “I should investigate any hidden qualities it may possess.” He folded the parchment gripped it tightly in his hand. “It is, after all, as you say, _my_ area of expertise. Harry, would you come with me please?” 

He bid Snape goodnight, and tilted his head towards the other end of the hall, indicating for the boy to accompany him back to his study. Snape watched with narrowed eyes as the pair walked off into the dark, but made no further comment on the matter, however suspicious he was about Lupin playing favourites with his old friend’s son. 

Remus could practically hear Harry’s heart hammering in his chest as they walked, the boy was so nervous. _And he ought to be,_ the professor thought grimly. _He’s put himself in incredible danger, and for what purpose? To sneak around the castle at night just because he can?_

When they arrived in the classroom, the room was dark but for the bit of moonlight shining through the windows, illuminating the set of articulated dragon bones hanging from the ceiling like a morbid chandelier. Remus stormed down the centre aisle, turned on Harry when he reached the end, and regarded him with a stern frown. 

“Harry, I think you are a very intelligent young man, which is why I am frankly _astounded_ that you would be so foolish as to carry around an artifact such as this. Have you _any_ idea how easy this would make it for Sirius Black to find you, if it were to fall into his hands? Harry balked under the professor’s thunderous expression. 

“N-no, sir, I didn’t think about that at all,” Harry admitted sheepishly. 

Remus let out a long sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He rarely lost his temper, but this was the exception. Harry had put himself in danger, and he needed someone to make him understand how serious the consequences could have been. 

“I will not cover for you again,” he told Harry gravely. “You are to return to your dormitory at once, and not take any detours. If you do,” he said, giving the map a shake, “I will know.” 

“Yes, sir,” Harry promised, his head falling forward resignedly. Remus watched as the teen trudged off in his pyjamas towards the door of the classroom, his slippers making barely any noise as he went. Just before he reached the hall, however, he turned around. “Professor, just so you know…I don’t think that map always works.” 

Remus, who had been on his way to the door into his study, stopped in his tracks and turned around. _The map never lies,_ he felt himself nearly say out loud. 

“Earlier, it showed someone in the castle,” Harry continued cautiously, meeting the professor’s eye across the dark room. “Someone I know to be dead.” 

“Oh, really? And who might that be?” Remus asked, his curiosity piqued. His mind flashed back to the note he’d received from Sirius just a few days before - the note he’d cast into the fire in disgust, because it had been a lie. 

“Peter Pettigrew,” Harry answered, his brows creased in confusion. 

“That’s…not possible,” Remus murmured, staring at Harry. That was a name that his godson shouldn’t know. He’d certainly never mentioned him, and he was sure that no other adult in their right mind would have said anything either. _So how…_

“S’just what I saw,” Harry said with a shrug. “Goodnight, Professor.” And with that, he slunk out of the classroom and headed for his dormitory, sufficiently chastised for one night. 

As soon as the teen was gone, Remus flicked his wand towards the classroom door, shutting and locking it. With a whispered, _“Lumos”_ to illuminate the tip of the wand, he opened the folded parchment on his desk and tapped its centre. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Burgundy ink bled through the page, forming the map’s familiar greeting. 

_Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present The Marauders Map._

Though he wanted to tear the thing open and pore over it as quickly as possible, Remus was gentle with its yellowed folds. It had taken hundreds of hours of research and practice to get the charm-work exactly right, and it would be impossible for him to do it again without the help of his friends. Remus found the corridor outside his classroom, located Harry’s name, and watched as the boy travelled along familiar hallways and up staircases until he was certain he had done as he’d been told. 

Next, Remus returned to the junction of corridors where he had met Harry and Snape just a few minutes before. The potions master’s name still hovered there, as though he were waiting for the boy to return and continue their argument. Along this hallway, Remus’ eyes wandered in search of Peter’s name, but he didn’t find it. Perhaps Harry had seen another person called Peter, and had mistaken it in his fatigued state. The teen had looked rather bleary-eyed, Remus thought. 

Just then, he spied a bit of movement on the bit of map that signified the Entry Hall of the castle, where - lo and behold - the name _Peter Pettigrew_ scampered across the room as quick as a whip. Remus jumped up from the desk, clutching the map in one hand, and ran for the door. He spelled his shoes silent so that he might avoid raising the alarm of Snape (or worse, Mr. Filch) and flew down the nearest staircase as fast as his bad hip would allow. 

When he reached the Entrance Hall, breathing hard, he pulled out the map and his wand and had another look. Peter’s name was nowhere to be seen, but there could be no doubt, now. He had seen the man’s name with his own eyes. _And that meant…_ Remus started to feel a bit woozy as his thoughts raced around his head. _That meant that Sirius had been telling the truth. He was innocent. He had been innocent all this time, and had spent 12 years in Azkaban._ The very idea sent his stomach roiling. 

Taking a few stumbling steps forward, Remus fell to his hands and knees and retched up the entirety of his dinner onto the flagstone floor. With wet, burning eyes, he continued heaving until there was nothing left in him. It was truly incredible, given that he was in the middle of the echoing front hall of the castle, that no one heard him. Neither Filch nor his insufferable cat came out to whine about the noise or the mess. 

When he was able to see and breathe properly again, perhaps a full ten minutes later, Remus whisked away the sick with a flick of his wand, Scourgified his mouth and swished around a bit of water from a well-placed Aguamenti, spat the vitriol-tasting liquid onto the ground in the courtyard, and continued on towards the bridge that spanned the chasm between the castle and the grounds beyond.


	20. "trying to awake"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from James Joyce's novel _Ulysses._
> 
> Perhaps a bit of an odd concept, but in this AU, Crookshanks (who is half-Kneazle) can speak to Padfoot. Thought it might be fun to write, and it was!

After tying his short note to the leg of the owl Remus had sent and sending the creature off with a gentle pat, Sirius collapsed in a heap on the ratty yellow-brown chaise, which seemed to be more mould than cushion these days. The Shrieking Shack was every bit as dilapidated and disgusting as it had been when Sirius and his friends had spent full moons there as teens, if not more so - certainly much dustier, he thought as his body shifted from skinny, unwashed vagrant into mangy, malnourished dog.

An indignant squeak arose from a hole in the cushion below him, alerting him to the presence of a family of mice within who weren’t keen on being crushed to death. Whimpering in apology, Padfoot shifted his weight a few inches to the left before laying his head down between his large paws. The air in the shack was chilly, so it wasn’t long before he resorted to snatching a down-filled duvet from the four-poster across the room and dragged it up onto the chaise in his teeth so he might curl up beneath the insulating layer, just as he had done for a shivering, naked Remus dozens of times the morning after the full. 

Under the warmth of the duvet, Padfoot sunk into a restless slumber, waking with every creak of the house’s shaky foundation in the wind. Though his dreams were nowhere near as vivid as the ones Sirius experienced in his human form - thus the reason he tended to sleep as a dog instead of as a man - Padfoot still let out the occasional yelp of fear when the more gruesome images or sensations from his time in Azkaban floated through his mind: a ripple of his cousin’s dissociated laughter; the scaly hand of a dementor curling around the bars of his cell; the dread that accompanied the dying flicker of his last match for the week. 

The one downside of living as Padfoot in the old shack was that his body _remembered._ He ached with longing for the presence of his friends - to bark with canine laughter as James got his antlers caught (yet again) in the loose balusters of the staircase; to feel Peter’s claws gripping at his fur as he climbed up onto his back, where he would sit as they ran through the forest in the dark of night; to expose his belly to the wolf, his mate, in reverent submission, who would affectionately press his muzzle into Padfoot’s fur and breathe in the warm, familiar scent of his companion. It was impossible to be in this place without hearing the phantom clack of hooves and claws against its rotting hardwood floors. 

When the sun poked above the horizon, Padfoot raised his head to watch through the gap in the slats boarded over the window, hoping that the owl might return with Remus’ reply any moment. The man within knew better, knew not to hope, because Remus’ first letter had been clear: _I never want to see you again,_ he had written. It had doused every dream the man had held onto in his time in Azkaban that Remus might still love him, putting that single spark of wishful thinking out in an instant. Padfoot was not so convinced. 

Around midday, the dog’s belly rumbled, but he forced himself to wait until dusk to creep into Hogsmeade, where there were plenty of bins to rummage through for scraps of meat. Sirius had never cared much for Padfoot’s indiscriminate palette, having been raised on plenty of rich and delicious foods, but he was hungry enough that he didn’t turn up his nose at the half-eaten pot pie the dog scrounged up in the alley behind the Three Broomsticks. 

With his hunger sated, he decided to prowl the castle grounds, despite the presence of his least favourite magical creatures, who seemed to be hovering around every place he had any interest in going. In the days prior, he had managed to catch one of Harry’s quidditch matches, which had been great fun considering the only other entertainment he had access to was chasing rabbits or the occasional fox through the forest underbrush. Today, though, he decided that a drink from the lake might be in order - so long as he avoided the giant squid, any curious merpeople, or the grindylows he’d overheard a student mention that Hagrid had “accidentally” introduced into the lake the year before. 

His brilliant idea was quashed, however, by the appearance of a flat-faced orange cat, who Padfoot guessed was a resident of the castle. The cat jumped out of a bush, bristling angrily at the dog’s presence on the castle grounds. Most cats just ignored him, but _this_ feline - a half-Kneazle whose metal name tag identified him as Crookshanks - could tell that Padfoot was no ordinary dog. 

_I know what you are,_ the cat hissed nasally, _I can smell it on your fur._ Padfoot had begun his retreat towards the Willow, but did a double-take when he realized he had understood exactly what the creature had said. Was this normal for a Kneazle, or was this one that possessed some sort of special communication magic? 

_And what might that be?_ Padfoot asked, narrowing his silver gaze at the cat. He didn’t like the idea of killing a creature that probably belonged to a student, but he wasn’t about to let some fluffy orange puss turn him into the dementors. 

_Human,_ Crookshanks answered, extending razor-sharp front claws to show Padfoot that he would fight back, if necessary. The dog bared his gleaming canines and snarled at his adversary, who tilted its head in amusement. _Just like that nasty little rat, Scabbers,_ the feline continued, his features twisted in distaste. 

The scrawny dog paused at this revelation, lowering his hackles. _What do you know of the rat?_

_He’s a conniving little menace,_ the orange cat snorted. _Always sneaking around where he ought not. I’ve caught him in my mistress’s things on more than one occasion, snooping._ The cat turned and began walking towards the Willow, his tail flickering in invitation. 

_And have you spoken to him…like this?_ Padfoot inquired, glancing around cautiously as he trotted along after the cat. 

_Of course not,_ Crookshanks growled, incensed by the very suggestion. _He’s a foul little creature, and I’d like nothing more than to grab him by his fat tail and—_

_No!_ Padfoot barked sharply, making the cat jump. It hissed at him again, annoyed at having been startled. _He’s exactly as you’ve suspected - conniving, and a sneak, both as rat and as man. I’ve come a long way in search of him, Kneazle, and I must catch him before he can harm a student - Harry Potter._

Crookshanks turned and eyed Padfoot with marked interest. _You are in luck. Harry Potter is a friend to my mistress. Does he know you, Dog?_

_Padfoot,_ he corrected. _He does not know me in this form, and I dare not appear to him as a man. There are those that would…not take kindly to my presence here at the castle,_ he informed the cat vaguely. 

_It is you the dark ones seek,_ the cat hummed thoughtfully. _Well then, you will need my help to catch the fat, sneaking rodent._

_You would help me?_ Padfoot questioned, observing as the lithe orange beast ahead of him surged towards the sentient tree and pressed his paw against the knot at the base of the willow, allowing the dog to approach without fear. 

_Though it is…disappointing that I cannot kill the rat myself,”_ Crookshanks meowed, padding along the dark passage towards the shack with Padfoot close behind, _I am satisfied by your hatred for the creature. I will try to bring him to you._

The pair reached the Shrieking Shack and ambled up the creaking staircase together, stopping when they reached the main bedroom in the house. The cat cocked its head to one side as if it were waiting for something to happen. 

_You want to see me,_ Padfoot surmised. 

_It seems only fair that I know the man for whom I am about to commit a crime,_ Crookshanks suggested coolly, stretching his front paws forward and arching his back. _I can wait, if you need a moment._

_You must promise not to lead humans here,_ the dog cautioned, _Especially not your mistress, or Harry Potter. They do not trust me yet. As you guessed, I am a wanted man._ The cat blinked up at Padfoot’s shaggy, slender frame, but its expression remained impassive as an equally shaggy human materialized before him. 

“Well, cat, what say you?” Sirius asked, reaching out a tattooed hand towards the feline. It stepped towards him, gave his hand a sniff, and after a moment of thought, rubbed its body along the man’s knee. “There we are, that’s a nice boy.” 

When Sirius curled up on the chaise that night, he was joined by a purring mass of ginger fluff that settled in the crook of his knees. It was the first time he’d had any living creature sleep beside him since before Azkaban, and the cat seemed to know how much he needed it, because it remained by his side for the entire night, offering the warm thump of its heartbeat as a lullaby to the touch-starved man. 


	21. "the mysterious starry night"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from Clarissa Pinkola Estés' novel _Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype._

The Whomping Willow stood proudly in the light of the moon, its branches held high. A bit of damage from the previous year’s punch-up with Arthur Weasley’s Ford Anglia was evident on one side, but all in all, the tree looked as grand as it always had, dressed in the golds and reds of autumn. With a silent Flipendo aimed at a knot at the base of the tree, Remus petrified the Willow just long enough that he could slip into the tunnel among its roots, known to only a select few people in the school’s history.

He had once known the cool, earthy passage well enough to go it without any light, but in the years since his time at Hogwarts, the Willow’s roots had grown through the rounded tunnel walls somewhat, so he resorted to lighting the tip of his wand once again. He walked directly through a spider’s web, which had him flailing his arms as he tried to brush it away from his face, praying that it belonged to a regular spider and not a young acromantula. The cardigan he had worn was not quite enough to keep away the chill of the air, so he walked quickly in order to gain some warmth. 

As he neared the end of the tunnel, he could hear the creak of a door blowing in the wind in the shack above. It was late enough at night that the occupant of the ramshackle house might be asleep, but the last thing Remus wanted was to surprise the man within. He quietly summoned a Patronus, whispered a gentle message to the wolf it produced, and sent it up the stairs to greet his husband. Listening closely, he heard a sharp intake of breath a floor above him, and the scrabbling of canine paws against the hardwood. 

A ragged dog appeared a moment later at the top of the stairs, its quicksilver eyes boring into Remus as the creature bared its teeth and growled, the sound low and deadly. 

“My name is Remus John Lupin-Black, and I married Sirius Orion Lupin-Black in a small ceremony under the stars, in front of my parents’ cottage, in September of 1979,” he spoke, meeting the dog’s eyes. “We were married by my father, and our only guests were Lily and James Potter. You insisted upon wearing dress robes like the posh twat you were, but I wore my nicest cable knit, because my mother always said it was the colour that—” 

“Brought out your eyes,” Sirius finished in a scratchy voice. He had transformed from Padfoot and was now watching him from the top step, still wearing the grungy striped robes issued to him in Azkaban. “It was a lovely mix of brown and mossy green, and your mother knit it for you the year she died.” 

“She did,” Remus nodded. There had been no need for Sirius to confirm his identity, because Remus would have known that black dog anywhere — could have picked him from a line-up of identical black dogs in a heartbeat. 

The two men just stared at each other for a minute, not sure how exactly to proceed. How did one greet the person they loved most in the world, yet who was so entirely changed by time and circumstance, when no apology could cover the multitude of wrongdoings that had led to their separation? 

Ever so slowly, Remus dragged himself up the stairs, his bad hip forcing him to climb much slower than he would have liked. When he reached the top, he surged forward into Sirius’ arms and felt himself immediately locked in the other man’s tight embrace. 

“I found you,” Sirius said, laughing in disbelief. Tears ran down his cheeks, joy mixed with deep sorrow for this strange reunion, for the two emotions could not be parsed in this situation 

“I know,” Remus whispered, gripping his husband’s shoulder as he pulled away to get a better look at the man. He had aged as much as Remus had during his time in Azkaban, it seemed, and his hair and beard were dreadfully unkempt. If it were possible, Remus would have pushed him directly into a bath and tenderly combed through the years’ worth of tangles. 

“I came as soon as I could, Remus, you must know that,” Sirius assured him frantically, clutching at Remus’ arms with trembling hands as his gaze flickered from one place to another. “But he’s _alive!_ " 

“I understand,” he promised, pressing a kiss to Sirius’ temple. “Take some deep breaths, love. We’ll figure everything out, but for now…you’re _here._ ” 

Remus pulled Sirius against his chest and held the man as he cried into his shoulder, whispering gentle words of comfort as he rocked him in his arms. Sirius needed a bath, clean robes, a shave and a haircut, and a trip to the dentist as soon as possible, but Remus let those more practical thoughts sink to the back of his mind as he revelled in the warmth of having his husband back. 

“Stay with me tonight, please?” Sirius requested in a small voice, sounding almost shy. “I can’t bear to see you go so soon. Not after everything.” 

“I’ll stay as long as I can,” Remus agreed, following Sirius as the man tugged him across the room and down onto the chaise, where they tangled themselves in each others’ embrace. Feeling a bit romantic, and a lot nostalgic, Remus pulled out his wand and performed a spell with a fancy swish of his wand that made the ceiling and roof of the shack transparent so that they might see the sky above them. The moon wasn’t quite full yet, and the lights from the castle were out for the night, so the view was perfect. 

“There we are,” Sirius observed, pointing a finger first at the moon, and next at his star, hanging in the sky just below Orion’s feet. “It was always so stormy in Azkaban that I could never find it, you know. The Dog Star.” Remus turned his head and looked into Sirius’ eyes sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. I should never have believed…I knew you could never. Would never. I loved you - _love_ you - and I knew better.” 

“I thought the same,” Sirius reminded him gravely. “I was suspicious of you, too. If I hadn’t allowed myself to believe that of you, we could have stayed together. It was _me,_ Remus. All of it.” The shorter man reached down and pulled up the leg of his trousers to show Remus the multitude of slim, silver tallies marking his skin. “I promised I’d be here for you, but you had to go all these moons without me.” 

“Sirius!” Remus cried, sitting up suddenly and lighting the tip of his wand with a silent _Lumos_ so he could take a closer look at the man’s leg. “What the hell have you done to yourself?” 

“I had to keep track somehow,” Sirius said with a slight frown, as though this were the most logical explanation in the world, so why did Remus seem so upset. “Every day just sort of…blurred together otherwise.” 

Remus ran the pad of his thumb over the raised lines, arranged in neat sets of five, and counted thirty groups plus two extra tallies - 152 moons; 12 years and 8 months since the last full they’d spent together. These scars were the physical embodiment of Sirius’ guilt, in addition to the pallor of his skin, the sharp edges of his bones visible through his skin. As if the psychological torture of being isolated and imprisoned hadn’t been painful enough. 

“No more of this,” Remus insisted firmly, pressing a kiss to his hand and wrapping it around the back of Sirius’ scarred calf. “I have enough scars for us both, alright? No more.” He wanted to say more - to scream that he could have developed an infection, could have poisoned his blood and died there in prison - but it wouldn’t have done any good. Based on the glassy, faraway look he noticed in Sirius’ eyes every time they weren’t talking, he guessed that some part of the man _had_ died in Azkaban. 

“I found you,” Sirius whispered, repeating his earlier assertion as he nuzzled his thick, scraggly beard against Remus’ exposed throat. He let out a breathy sigh, warming his husband’s skin, and was asleep just seconds later. 

Beside him, Remus lay awake for the rest of the night, staring up into oblivion as he wondered what the hell they were supposed to do now. His husband was an escaped convict, innocent or not, and the entire wizarding world was against them. 


	22. "famished saints"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is from this quote by playwright D.L. Smith:
> 
> _"Well fed devils behave better than famished saints."_
> 
> **CW: Non-graphic (attempted) sexy scene.**

Sirius stood in the open doorway of the cottage and gave the place a once-over. The layout and furniture looked much the same as they had years ago, with the addition of a few new bookshelves (plus the requisite tomes that had necessitated the purchase of said shelves). The house was rather spotless, he realized, which was shocking; Remus had always been tidy, but also tended to amass clutter when not carefully monitored. Someone must have been caring for the place before he took the position at Hogwarts. It was an awkward thing to ask, but Sirius did it anyways as soon as his husband had returned from the grocer’s.

“Please tell me I’m not sending some poor bloke packing by showing up here,” he said, regarding Remus warily. “I…well, it’s not fair of me at all to expect or believe that you’ve been alone all this time, Rem, and the last thing I want is to ruin something good if you’ve, er…found someone.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Remus snorted, glancing up from the paper bag of groceries he was unpacking. “McGonagall forced me to accept help from one of the castle’s elves. I hadn’t been well, so she sent Tilly to keep an eye on me, make sure I didn’t drown myself in paperwork or run out of clean dishes.” 

“A house elf,” Sirius repeated, dumbfounded. “Minnie made _you_ keep an elf?” He tried to imagine it, but got hung up on the amusing thought of Remus bickering with wrathful old Kreacher, an elf nearly as ancient as the family he served. 

“Wouldn’t take no for an answer, the bloody woman,” Remus grumbled. Tearing open a new bag of sugar, he refilled the sugar bowl, an integral part of the slightly chipped tea service he had salvaged from a charity shop some years back. A few white grains spilled onto the countertop, which he swept back into the bag before stowing it in an overhead cupboard. 

Sirius leaned back against the counter and looked on as his husband moved slowly about the kitchen. He couldn’t remember ever having paid such close attention to the minute details of home life, but ever since he and Remus had been reunited in the Shrieking Shack a few weeks back, he was determined to soak up every bit of Remus he could. He made a list in his head of all the things he was noticing about the man, from the gentle tenor of his hum (a habit he turned to while making busywork) to the shuffle of his slippers against the kitchen linoleum. 

“What are you thinking about, Pads?” Remus inquired, gently pulling Sirius from his silent ruminations. Sirius’ dark eyelashes fluttered as he turned his attention to the taller man who was now directly before him, whose hands were hovering just above the sharp angles of his hipbones. The man’s voice was warm and sultry, and Sirius found his gaze drawn to his pink mouth with its chapped lips, which Remus wet with a quick dart of his tongue. 

They had been taking things slowly for both their sakes. Between Sirius waking from nightmares screaming and calling out for him, and Remus struggling to fall asleep for fear that Sirius might be gone when he awoke, there was a lot of worry keeping them from returning to the intimacy they had shared as younger men. That didn’t mean, however, that it was easy to wait for the “right time”; Sirius hadn’t touched another person - let alone had sex - since his incarceration nearly 13 years ago, and it had been nearly as long for Remus as well. The attraction they felt for each other remained despite the changes in their physiques or the greying of their hair. 

“I want you,” Sirius murmured, tilting his face up towards Remus’ to meet him in a soft kiss. This, they had done. The scratch of the man’s grey stubble against his lower lip was a new sensation, though not an unwelcome one; Remus had always been clean-shaven when they were young because he couldn’t grow a beard for shit. 

“Do you?” Remus asked, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a devilish smile. He took a half-step forward so that his hips and chest were flush with Sirius’ and slipped his hands around his husband’s slender waist, pulling him close. 

“So fucking much,” Sirius groaned, sliding his hands across Remus’ chest. Their lips met frantically, and it wasn’t another moment before Sirius shifted his hands beneath the shoulders of the man’s knitted cardigan and shoved it down his arms. Remus’ own hands found the hem of his husband’s t-shirt and slipped underneath, skimming up the skin of his belly and chest before yanking it over Sirius’ head. 

Sirius tore at Remus’ shirt buttons, wanting desperately to feel the man’s warm chest against his own bare skin. Just as eager, Remus undid the belt holding Sirius’ slightly large trousers, pulled it clean out, and tossed it onto the floor. He hooked two fingers into the empty loops and tugged Sirius in the direction of their bedroom, never breaking their kiss for even a moment. Sirius followed without question, nearly tripping over the thin strip of metal that covered the transition line between linoleum and hardwood. Remus’ shoulders hit the wall of the corridor before the rest of him, but with one of Sirius’ hands snagged in his hair, he avoided bumping his head. 

“Christ, Pads,” Remus panted as Sirius dragged his sharp nails down his chest, “I’ve missed you.” Red lines ran from Remus’ collarbones to the waistband of his slacks, with occasional breaks where silver scar tissue put up resistance. 

“Tell me how much,” Sirius said, smiling against his husband’s throat, where he was in the process of sucking a dark bruise that would surely appease the possessive natures of both Padfoot and the wolf. Remus writhed beneath Sirius’ mouth, uttering expletives that would have made even James Potter blush. 

“Please,” he whined, attempting to slide along the wall towards the awaiting bedroom before his quivering legs could give way beneath him. “Please, let’s go?” A throaty groan ripped from Sirius’ throat as Remus bucked against him. 

“Don’t you dare,” Sirius threatened feebly. He was achingly hard, and knowing he wouldn’t last long once they reached their bed, was wary of allowing things to progress too quickly. 

“We—have—all night,” Remus reminded him between shaking breaths. “And forever.” 

That was an argument that Sirius could agree with. He pulled Remus forward into one last searing kiss before they tumbled down the corridor together, leaving a trail of abandoned clothes in their wake.

**Author's Note:**

> See all the Prosetober prompts here --> https://drawingdawnart.tumblr.com/post/629280324527013888/some-of-my-artists-friends-and-i-felt-like-we


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